Vicissitudes
by Countess Millarca
Summary: Change. Sometimes it was necessary, and sometimes things were perfect the way they were and shouldn't be messed with. ItaSaku. Non-Mass. ANBU-fic.
1. Chapter 1

___Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto. All rights belong to Kishimoto, Masashi.___

_A/N: My muse has gone rampant lately. Oh well… I didn't put this fic under a specific category because the genres are kinda mixed. It's a black comedy with licks of erotica and quiet horror? Yeah...kinda. Throw in some angst and lots of introspection. If you squint hard enough later on, you might even see wisps of romance. Enjoy, and please review! Onwards! XD_

_Warnings: It's dark and explicit; it's death and blood; it's lust and corruption; it's fucking prose and demented love._

_More Warnings: Violence and gore, dubious consent and forced seduction, obsession and madness, psychological torture and mental disorders, slash and threesomes. _

* * *

><p><em>The world is a sempiternal tide, <em>

_Life cresting and ebbing _

_To the whims of human nature._

The air was thick with smells, heavy with the viscous taste of death. Pungent odors, bodily fluids strewn on the ground in a pool of tissue and clots, drenching Itachi's skin, perforating his senses. Blood-red coiled in his eyes, reflected on the moistened soil, yet it was another kind of red. Fresh blood was too warm, clinging to the vestige of life, even as it still oozed and frothed. His gaze roved over his slain targets, disarrayed in a mélange of limbs and skin and lacerations before his feet. Eyes glassy, unseeing, bodies growing cold and arid, rigor mortis beginning to spread through muscles and joints – and yet, Itachi's eyes, the _Sharingan, _gleamed colder than that, swirled with languor, untouched by the carnage it wrought. Itachi spared one last glance at the gaping lumps of flesh, once living, breathing humans, now mere organic waste. _Mission complete_. He saw nothing more, nothing less. Itachi couldn't even recall when the last time was that hadn't been the case, that he had viewed corpses as _human _remains. Even the report he was due to write upon return gravitated with more significance in his mind.

He turned on his heel once the disposal team arrived, exchanged typical greetings. Two of them he was unfamiliar with, probably new recruits, judging by the disgust crossing their features and the quiet, heaving sounds that followed his departure. _Rookies_. It had been a long time since he had been the one to perform such duties; he had almost forgotten the novelty of the experience for a newly integrated member. Still, even then, Itachi had never displayed such reactions, at least never on the scene. ANBU's standards were dropping low, and lower, with each passing year, it seemed. Itachi _almost_ sighed, a twist of lips, more contortion than expression, deliberating. ANBU consisted of veterans and rookies these days, shinobi too jaded _or_ too bright, those who survived and those who replaced all who didn't, no middle ground, no in-between.

Lately, more and more didn't make the cut, weren't suited for the line of work Itachi had indulged in for the past decade. Unsurprisingly. It required a certain kind of shinobi, after all.

ANBU estimated the value of shinobi not by efficiency but self-awareness. Notable skill were merely the requirement for standard initiation. What made a true ANBU shinobi was mentality – to discard all sense of self, to smother the merest scintilla of individuality. For the success of the mission, for the sake of the village – no questions asked, no answers given. It was an unspoken rule, soaked through soul and flesh, steeped into blood and viscera, slick and tangy and unpalatable. What distinguished an elite from the mask-wearing, nameless mass was the juxtaposition of being part of the whole yet separate. To possess the rare quality of having all the answers, performing the task assigned in perfection while being cognizant of motives, catalysts, and consequences. Ignorance, blind devotion, was for foot soldiers or, as Itachi reckoned, the fortunate amongst them. Sometimes, Itachi begrudged them; sometimes, he pitied them. Not that it mattered. For him, nature dictated he be thrust into the elite of their ilk, deprived of choice long before he was cogent of it. Itachi may have held all the cards, but he was unable to select his hand. Quite ironic, in truth. But he had come to terms with it a long time ago.

Retching groans touched his ears right before he was out of hearing range. Another fledgling who couldn't handle the heat, soon to be reassigned. His throat vibrated with an intrinsic sound, rough and dry, not quite a chuckle.

_Babies. _

Pity, this time, with a warp of amusement. It wasn't his place to make that report though; Itachi hadn't been a team leader for five years, ever since the Godaime's appointment. Tsunade's first change when she donned the mantle of Hokage had been to reconstruct ANBU to suit her modus operandi, with the most notable one the creation of a medic nin echelon, not that many medics were willing to join. Either way, it was redundant, in Itachi's opinion. Most ANBU shinobi possessed basic medical knowledge, few select jutsu that would allow someone to heal minor injuries or delay the inevitable, until a mission was completed within the allotted time. Whether the shinobi survived or not was irrelevant. Missions had a strict timetable, with no room for mistakes, postponement, or personal judgment. The rules were simple and non-negotiable.

_Complete the mission per instructed. _

_If circumstances arise in which you cannot, make contact for guidance or replacement. _

_In case of fatal injuries, dispose all evidence, including your own body._

Hence, the futility of having medical experts on a team. In most cases, there wasn't time for full recovery, not without compromising the mission, but Itachi's opposition to medic nin in ANBU stemmed from another fact, less technical, more emotion-oriented. Shinobi anesthetized their emotions when on a mission, but they could never be fully erased, not without extreme measures. What Tsunade cultivated was _hope_ – for survival, smiles and tears, a lover's touch, whatever shinobi had waiting for them home. It was dangerous, loosened resolve, awakened yearning – to live, smile, cry, touch – and ultimately led to failed missions, something Itachi couldn't condone. It was merely one of the things she and Itachi couldn't see eye to eye, certainly not the most important, but the one that rankled her most. That was not to say she hadn't made improvements, but if Itachi had to be brutally honest, the fault for ANBU's current situation lay with her.

Tsunade was simply _too_ sentimental, placed too much value on one's life, treated the assassination squad the same way she did all other squads – but ANBU shinobi were _not_ the same as regular shinobi. They served a certain purpose within the village, one that Tsunade couldn't quite grasp, or if she did, she sought to change. Little by little. Day by day. It was subtle but unmistakable. The Godaime was strong-willed, battle-hardened, and temperamental, but above all, she was a_ medic_, with the mentality of one – and that had caused a rift between her and the majority of ANBU's senior members. In an attempt to mellow things, gain time to formulate solutions all would agree upon, influence them to alter their ways, Tsunade had allowed them to take on individual missions, work on a case alone, granted they possessed adequate experience. Five years had passed since then, many shinobi had caved under her heel, embraced the new regime, many but a select few, Itachi included.

Itachi never outright flaunted her ideology, always followed orders to the letter, but he didn't have to be vocal for her to know his inner thoughts. They were carved in the black of his eyes, the contours of his lips, the solidity of his posture, each time Tsunade attempted to assign him on a team, fully equipped with a medic. He stared at her, quiet and unblinking, irises abysmal and umbrous, merged with his pupils, until the lines on her face creased, lips drawn tight with disapproval, the gold of her eyes gone dark, like heated metal. Tension coiled and twisted, inundated the space between them with the scent of ozone, then unraveled with a long-suffering sigh. Tsunade threw some clipped words at him, weighted with disrelish, and Itachi tilted his neck in tacit acknowledgment but merely that. She was his superior, the decision-maker, the great pillar hefting Konoha on her shoulders, and Itachi was nothing but a small column, alleviating her burden, offering support. Even small columns were entitled to their own opinions though, and Tsunade was a rather flexible pillar. If she wasn't, she wouldn't be able to bend and maneuver when gusts of wind threatened to tear through her, break her in jagged fragments, and scatter her amongst the other four great shinobi nations.

Compromise might not have been her forte, her preferred method in facing issues, but she knew when to push, to press, to pull – and when _not_ to. Itachi would give her credit for that, if nothing else. After all, she was the Hokage who succeeded where her predecessors failed; Tsunade had prevented the tide of a coup d'etat from cresting over the village and sweeping everything into chaos, stoppered the Uchiha patriarch's single-minded drive for rebellion, appeased the flames of vengeance burning in Uchiha hearts, smothered the coals of injustice simmering under his clansmen's skin. The Godaime more than deserved to be where she was, Itachi would avow her proficiency, but that didn't mean he had to agree with her on everything. The addition of medic nin in ANBU was merely one of those things they agreed to disagree upon – at least on his part. Tsunade was too stubborn to cease trying to convert him, and Itachi _never_ doubted, tweaked, or changed his point of view.

Medic nin were accomplished shinobi in their line of field, especially after Tsunade had taken the reins, but they were by no means ANBU material shinobi. They lacked the flavor of ruthlessness ingrained on Itachi's tongue, highly prioritized human life, and had the tendency to infect those around them with the same mindset if given the chance. Itachi didn't underestimate their fighting abilities either; Tsunade simply overestimated their capacity for impartiality. If Itachi had to describe in one word what made a medic nin different from an ANBU shinobi that would be _human_. Medics, like Tsunade, yet retained the emotions that allowed them to view _corpses_ as human remains.

* * *

><p>Night still overlay Konoha when Itachi returned, an adumbral vastness stretching over the cavity wherein the village resided, but it was dissipating quickly, morning light struggling to break through. He wasn't overly weary, but he needed a shower, maybe solid food, and sleep. His report would have to wait until after his shower at the very least. It was quiet, almost too quiet, when he passed the gates of his home, took off his shoes, and made for his room, but the pulse of Sasuke's chakra in the outdoor training grounds told him it wouldn't be that way for long. Itachi was half-inclined to believe his younger sibling purposefully waited for Itachi to come home all night long, in hopes of catching Itachi in the rare mood to spar with him. Sasuke had never outgrown that childish habit, simply developed glaring subtlety once he made Jōnin two years prior, realizing that pulling Itachi's shirt and openly demanding – or begging – wasn't the coolest approach for an adult, and Sasuke refused to be anything but cool.<p>

Itachi could avoid him altogether, pretend he never felt the pulsations of his brother's chakra, which would result in a mocking remark come morning about his poor detection skills, despite Sasuke knowing better than that, or walk out there, give the usual, curt nod, and walk back inside, which would bring many sullen glares over breakfast. It made no difference to Itachi since he wasn't planning on being awake till lunch, but he reckoned he needed to inform his mother about that, and Sasuke would make for a better messenger than an insipid note.

Sasuke was already staring at him before Itachi even took one step outside, restriction and foretaste and aggression in the glint of his eyes. Itachi's chin dipped in greeting, his strides slow, even.

"You're early." Sasuke's greeting was more articulate than Itachi's, though his voice didn't carry the emotions that dwelt in his gaze.

"I finished quickly."

There wasn't a smidgen of blood on Itachi's clothes, nothing to indicate he'd come out of a bloodbath, but Sasuke's eyes trailed over him as if he could see its phantom traces. He gave a noncommittal _hn_, feigning disinterest, though Itachi could hear a pang of jealousy meshed in the sound.

"Tell mother not to wake me till noon."

It was the signal that conversation had come to an end. Sasuke's lips thinned with the realization, and Itachi thought he was about to protest, but his brother valiantly held it in, gave a short nod. Perhaps he was growing.

"Itachi –" Perhaps not. "The Hokage summoned us today." Sasuke paused, fixed Itachi with a curious gaze, as if he was judging whether Itachi would be interested enough to ask what the summons were about or who _us_ were.

It was a waste of time. Sasuke wouldn't have broached the matter if he didn't plan on talking from the start. Itachi made a noise in his throat, something between a hum and a grunt, more concerned with how his clothes were sticking to his skin than anything at this point – which Sasuke took as his cue to continue.

"She said that we're eligible to take on a genin team."

Itachi had figured it was something along those lines. There weren't many options after someone reached Jōnin level, after all.

"I see."

Jaw hard-set, tensile, Sasuke stared at him, as if Itachi held the answer to his dilemma.

"Well?"

"My condolences." Dry, appropriate, and final. Itachi turned around, hankering for that shower.

"I was thinking…" Sasuke's voice dragged across the slope of Itachi's back, made him halt. It was rather assertive, more daring. "About joining ANBU instead."

Itachi pondered the possibility for a few seconds.

"Maybe," was all he said.

Then he disappeared inside the house, headed straight for that shower, zoning out the rise in Sasuke's chakra. It was _too_…happy.

_Babies_.

There was no need for Itachi to crush Sasuke's aspirations, and it wasn't as if Sasuke didn't possess the qualities for an ANBU shinobi. Itachi would have flat out told him in that case. His brother simply had the wrong motivation, high expectations, and mistaken assumptions. One did not _happily_ join ANBU, but that was not a lesson that could be taught orally. Sasuke would have to experience it for himself.

* * *

><p>Ichiraku's was empty when Sakura arrived, not that she hadn't expected it to be. There weren't many people who thought ramen made for an excellent breakfast choice – and second breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack – besides Naruto. Sakura would bet the ramen shop opened so early mainly because of Naruto. None of her teammates had arrived yet – Kakashi wouldn't even bother most probably – so Sakura took a seat and greeted the shop owner and his daughter with a smile. Ayame winked at her, casually asked if Kakashi was coming, then fled to the bathroom when Sakura replied he <em>might<em>, probably to apply some make-up or fix her hair. Sakura couldn't help but chuckle, thinking that it was kind of cute, kind of pathetic, kind of like _her_. After all, the main reason she was indulging Naruto's controversial and unhealthy breakfast diet was that Sasuke would be coming as well.

Still, Sakura couldn't find it in herself to care how it looked like, not after the news her shishō had delivered yesterday, inadvertently devastating Sakura's heart. It was beyond idiotic, she knew, yet blaming Tsunade allayed her feelings of inadequacy and wretchedness. _Six years._ Sakura had spent six years of her life in team Kakashi, granted on and off due to her tutelage with Tsunade and Naruto's with Jiraiya, that she couldn't even imagine _not_ being in a team with Kakashi, Naruto, and Sasuke. They were her _family_, her boys, her eccentric teacher, her best friend, and her hopeless crush respectively. If they broke up, went their separate ways, would they even meet up for breakfast in ridiculous places like ramen shops anymore? Sakura couldn't answer that question with certainty – and that was what disquieted her the most.

Naruto would probably be ecstatic if she told him she couldn't imagine her life without him in it, but Sakura had a sinking suspicion the same couldn't be said for Kakashi or Sasuke. Kakashi would probably pin her with an owlish stare, rubbing the back of his neck, possibly gaping behind his mask, then his eye would crease into a crescent, and he would disappear with a _poof_ of smoke. Sasuke's reaction was a bit harder to envision, if he even displayed one. As much as Sakura hated to admit it, Sasuke's attachment to his team gyrated around Kakashi mostly, maybe even Naruto. Sakura was simply an extra he had to tolerate – an annoying extra who talked a lot, asked him out on dates he always refused, and paid him way too much unwanted attention.

Her head descended onto the counter with a miserable sigh, pink locks splayed messily, arms falling listless to her sides, the wood cool and smooth against her cheek. She felt like crying, only she lacked the energy to actually do it.

"Good morning, Sakura-chan!" Naruto's voice was _too_…enthusiastic, too loud, too full of optimism. Sakura merely turned on her other cheek to watch as he sat beside her, didn't even bother rising.

"Morning," she muttered, wondering what he found so _good_ about this particular morning.

The answer came in the next second when Naruto slammed his palms rhythmically against the counter, all but bouncing in his seat.

"Ramen, oc-chan! With extra chashu!"

Of course, _ramen_. If his lips split any wider, Sakura feared he'd tear his cheeks in two.

"Hai! One ramen with extra chashu coming up!"

Sakura opted for ordering when Sasuke finally joined them. Chances were Naruto would have finished by then, salivating for his second serving. With another sigh, she lifted herself up to a proper sitting position.

"What's with that face, Sakura-chan?" Naruto still smiled, but at least he wasn't trying to dissect his cheeks now that the promise of ramen had been fulfilled.

Brows almost sewn together in a frown, Sakura stared at him, half-confused, half-angry. Had he forgotten the reason for this meeting already? She wouldn't put it past him, but even he couldn't be that oblivious. Before she could open her mouth to ask, Sasuke took a seat on her other side, nearly giving her a heart attack in the process. Sakura couldn't have been that distracted not to notice him, especially since she was keeping an eye out for him. The only possible explanation was that he was _that_ good. Somehow, it rankled, more than usual. Though, she wondered why he was being stealthy with his _own_ team. Correction. Soon to be _ex_ team. Sakura felt like banging her head again, for more than one reason. Her team consisted of _batshit crazy_ people – and she wouldn't change them for anyone in the world.

"Ramen," Sasuke grunted more than spoke. Clearly, not a morning person – a fact well known. Sakura shook her head and placed her order after his.

"Temee! You're late." Naruto's accusing finger poked Sakura's shoulder instead of its intended target, but Sakura was too low-spirited to even slap it away.

"Kakashi is not here yet."

"Kakashi-sensei doesn't count. He was born _late_!"

"Still better than being born an idiot."

"Speaking from experience?"

"You should know."

Sakura listened to their banter for a little while, her chest constricting at the thought of not hearing it ever again. She was seriously messed up if she was going to miss _that_ of all things, but it was one of the things that made them who they were. Team Kakashi was just not the same without Naruto and Sasuke hurling insults and trying to compete with each other in all manners possible.

"Three bowls of ramen!"

The hot, spicy aroma emanating from the bowls ended the silly argument before Sakura could even spell chashu. Naruto dug in first with his usual brio; Sasuke's table manners were far less animated; and Sakura just picked at the noodles without much appetite.

"Seriously…what's the…matter with you…today?" Naruto all but spat at her between slurping down his noodles and trying to talk.

A sigh tangled with her vocal cords, but she forced the words out of her mouth. "You don't care that we're splitting up and taking students of our own?" Sakura couldn't mask the bitterness from coating her voice.

Naruto's brows shot up in bafflement. "When did that happen? Tsunade no baa-chan didn't order us or anything."

A groan vibrated inside Sakura's mouth. Naruto _really_ hadn't understood.

"Idiot." Sasuke at least spared Sakura from having to explain this. "She didn't explicitly order us, but her message was clear. It's counter-productive to have one team of four extremely skilled Jōnin when they could be distributed in other teams to raise the success rate of missions or train genin and chūnin who display potential. Each one of us could have completed the missions we've been assigned lately alone – and they were all A Rank missions. Either way, we can't remain as Team Kakashi. Training genin is just one choice. The Hokage simply gave us time to think and decide what path we want to take out of consideration to Kakashi and because Sakura is her apprentice. If it was any other team, I'm guessing she wouldn't have. Get it now?"

Naruto's confusion had turned into shock by the time Sasuke finished. He gaped at the Uchiha, his half-eaten ramen all but forgotten.

"So…what? It's a done deal?" he sputtered at last, the implications finally hitting him hard. Sakura almost pitied him as much as herself. Team Kakashi was the _only_ family Naruto had ever known besides Jiraiya.

"Cheer up, Naruto. We can still see each other." She smiled at him and stroked his back, but her eyes seethed with a burning sensation and her smile trembled precariously on her lips.

Her weak attempt at comfort was brushed aside, not that she blamed him. Naruto sprung upright, crashing his fist against the counter. A storm raged in the blue of his eyes.

"That's not fair! How could she do that?"

Sasuke merely shrugged. "It was bound to happen sooner or later."

Silence spread after Sasuke's matter-of-fact remark.

Naruto's features hardened with resolve, lips ashen, bloodless. He was practically breathing grim determination. Then he was speaking, low and rough tones.

"I'm gonna talk to her. I don't care what she says… We are _not_ splitting up."

It had been a long time since Sakura had heard that cutting edge in his voice.

"Don't bother." Sasuke's foreboding nuance gave Sakura the chills, made her dread what he would utter. "I'm joining ANBU."

Her heart thumped out a wild tempo during the silence that ensued, his last word ringing and howling and screeching in her ears. Her mouth opened and closed. Once. Twice. Teeth bit her lip, sank into the swollen flesh. It was surreal. This could _not_ be happening. Slowly, numbed to her bones, Sakura sought his eyes, delved deep into black and blacker.

A hiss of a gasp fell off the seam of her mouth.

"What?"

It served to wake Naruto who had stood stiffer than a statue up until then, near petrified.

"Sasuke…temee…" His gaze bored into Sasuke's, angry and befuddled, hot and growing hotter. "What the hell did you say? You've got to be joking!"

Sakura couldn't tell who was the cause of it – she or Naruto – but Sasuke's countenance softened, lost its serrated cusp, that apathetic streak.

"Look, Tsunade isn't going to change her mind." He slashed Naruto with a glare when the blond made to argue. "And Itachi is in ANBU."

Sakura's mouth formed a silent _o_ the moment those words slipped from his lips. _Itachi_. _ANBU_. _Right_. She was incredibly stupid not to have made the connection earlier. Her lashes felt heavier, wetter. The walls of her throat clamped down on her voice, her tongue dry of all moisture. She would _not_ cry…damn it…she would –

"Fine, I get it." Naruto's grudging acceptance startled Sakura, but nothing prepared her for what came next. "No choice then. I'll join, too."

A feeling of vertigo overcame her, lightheadedness. Sakura stared and stared and stared –

Her voice sliced through whatever substance clogged her throat, sprung out, thick and sharp.

"What?"

It was rather unintelligent, she thought, if that was all she could say. Laughter buzzed in her lungs, gurgled under her tongue. Perhaps she was going crazy, too…_batshit_ _crazy_. Because when two pair of eyes turned to look at her, curiously expectant, she let it all out. Laughing herself to tears, she hugged them both.

"I guess I'm babysitting after all." She sniffed between choked laughs. "Just not genin."

"Who's pregnant?" Kakashi had the worst timing ever. "Naruto…don't tell me –"

"We're joining ANBU!"

Naruto grinned at Kakashi. The Copy nin grinned back.

"No, you're not." Then he glanced at the Uchiha. "Sasuke…maybe."


	2. Chapter 2

Tsunade wasn't a morning person. The sun was too goddamn bright for her sensitive retinas; her work was strewn across her desk in piles of scrolls and papers; the neurons in her brain thrummed like fast-pounded drums under the influence of her hangover; and Shizune had served her a steaming cup of green tea with a good dose of castigation. Spiking the hot drink with sake probably wouldn't help her splitting headache, but Tsunade was tempted, oh-so-very-tempted.

She abandoned the idea with a _tsk_, and stretched her neck, joints popping with cracking sounds, tension leaching away. Inhalation. Exhalation. She repeated the process with various body parts, until her mind didn't want to commit suicide at the thought of touching even one of those scrolls. Skimming through most of them, she hummed, nodded, stamped without preamble, certain that Shizune had already assessed them. Reports needing her seal to be filed and categorized, missions seeking her approval to be further processed, payments, debts – she groaned at those – and all mundane stuff she went through every single day without deviation. Then came the not-mundane stuff, those that required every ounce of her attention – _shinobi evaluations_.

First on her list was the most pressing, the one Tsunade was feeling a slight pang of guilt toward. Team Kakashi. _Unavoidable. It has to be done._ Tsunade might have relied on this mantra to go through with it, but the decision still left a sour taste on her palate. Her back sank into the leather of her armchair, neck slanted in an upward arc, eyes gliding over the white expanse of the ceiling, unseeing, glazed with regret. The brats were expected any minute now, supposedly with their answers, but Tsunade suspected dissatisfaction, indecision, and complaints were due instead, not that she'd blame them. They were fledglings, despite having achieved Jōnin level two years ago, accustomed to working as a team, never having imagined it would change – but _it must_. Tsunade had been lenient, given them time to come to this conclusion by themselves, prayed Kakashi would nudge them toward it, though she should have guessed he'd rather stay out of this one.

A sigh whizzed out of her lips, prolonged and glum-ridden, pondering plausible scenarios. But it was pointless to dwell on _what_ _ifs_ and _maybes_; she really had no alternative but to split them up. Kakashi was the easiest amongst them to deal with, cognizant this day would have come sooner or later, especially with the growth his students displayed. He was a professional, almost too clever, and one of her most seasoned shinobi. Sasuke resembled him too much to cause her any real grief. The problem lay with Naruto – and possibly Sakura. Tsunade was well aware that severing this bond would be akin to strapping Naruto to a wooden pole and welting his back raw. Again and again. Sakura's infatuation with the Uchiha was no secret either. There were many times Tsunade had contemplated this was what urged her to strive harder, aim higher, endure the vicious training she subjected her to.

Another sigh built in her lungs, catapulted to her mouth, but it was drowned under the distinct sound of her door being knocked. Shifting in her armchair, spine snapping straight, forearms crossed and pressed against the oak-wood of her desk, she beckoned the four shinobi inside. The Hokage expected many things – umbrage, yells, accusation, scowls, petulance – but certainly not what greeted her – anticipation, smiles, elation, and a tilt of amusement on Kakashi's lips, not quite hidden beneath his mask. It made her take pause, reassess her assumptions. Something was definitely wrong with this picture, foreboded nothing good for her frazzled nerves. Tsunade rested her chin on laced fingers, a frown wedged between her brows, eyes hooded, half-lidded and gleaming edge. Her gaze bypassed Kakashi with nothing more than a furtive glance, traveled over his students' features.

Sasuke was standing tall and passive, as always, but his eyes glowed with a hyaline sheen, close to excitement if she had to characterize it. Sakura's stiff poise betrayed hints of uncertainty under Tsunade's close scrutiny. Naruto, peculiarly, radiated pure, unadulterated joy. It was odd, an aberration, enough to drag Tsunade's receding hangover from the back of her head to her temples once more.

"Kakashi." The Copy nin met her piercing stare, a leisure motion of his neck. "Explain."

There was no need for her to elaborate, not when it came to Kakashi. Sometimes, the man was too clever even for his own good, but he was lazy enough to compensate for it. Even if he was aware of many things, usually he would deem it too much trouble to get involved. The Sandaime should have assigned the Nara kid on his team in retrospect, though Tsunade suspected the old man didn't _because_ of that shared trait.

"Hm." Tsunade _really_ didn't like the way this _hm_ sounded, neither what followed. "I think it'd be best if you heard it from their mouths."

Her lips pursed but she nodded. There was no point in pressing him when the perpetrators were in the room to begin with. She turned her attention to Sasuke, jaw tense and dipping, nonvocal command.

"Assign me to ANBU." His tone was low and sure, more order than request. He must have realized it, albeit a tad late. "Hokage-sama."

What rattled Tsunade was neither his arrogance nor his ambition – he was an Uchiha, he couldn't help it – but the realization following in their wake. If Sasuke was dead-set on joining ANBU instead of training genin then that meant –

"I wanna join, too!"

_Naruto_. A spasm ticked in Tsunade's jaw; a vein throbbed on her temple. Her lids lowered; her lips thinned. When she opened her eyes, parted her mouth, Tsunade addressed her disciple.

"I suppose that applies for you as well, Sakura?" A smile slashed across Tsunade's cheeks, made Sakura near flinch upon its sight.

Sakura's reply was sibilant, barely audible, fraught with dread. "Hai, shishō."

Then the Godaime's gaze sought the Copy nin's.

"And you, Kakashi?" Her smile adopted visceral qualities, morphed into a feral grin. "Do you wish to return to ANBU?"

"If that is your command, Hokage-sama."

Clever man, indeed. A hum stroked the walls of her throat as she deliberated the mess dangling in her lap. Tsunade had already selected the next team of genin to be put under Kakashi's leadership, and she had no intention of reinstating him to ANBU. The Sandaime had removed him for a good reason. The assassination squad spelled self-destruction for the Copy nin, and she much preferred him as a lackadaisical genius than a cold-blooded killer. Sasuke would make a promising recruit. _Maybe_. She held more doubts about Sakura, but she was a medic nin, and there was a despairing lack of those in ANBU. But Naruto – _Naruto_ in _ANBU_… Tsunade was in dire need of a drink.

_Fuck it._

In a motion too fast for even Kakashi's trained eye to follow, a sake cup was already touching her lips. It was sweet and warm and burned her insides, coiling in a zesty mass low in her stomach – so she downed another one. And another.

"Um, Tsunade no baa-chan?"

"_What_?"

It was no more than a hiss, laced with poisonous vice. Naruto winced, almost shut up, but didn't heed his survival instincts. Tsunade thought that was exactly what was wrong with the boy.

"You know…about us joining –"

She slammed the cup against her desk with enough force to shatter both, _made_ him shut up.

"Fine. You can join the goddamn ANBU." She raised a hand before he burst out in ecstatic hollers. "But _only_ if you pass the initiation test."

Silence slithered into the currents of cool air from the open window at her back. Kakashi sent a quizzical stare her way, but she cut him with a dagger-sharp glare. _Keep_ _quiet_. Like the clever man he was, Kakashi did.

There was no need to tell them there was no test or that the Hokage had full authority on assigning ANBU members or that Tsunade made the impromptu rule to spare herself from a worse headache.

"What's the initiation test?" Confident, if a bit audacious, Sasuke seemed ready to take on an entire nation without breaking a sweat.

A smirk split her lips, insidiously curled, swelling with twisted satisfaction. For all the grief they had caused her today, they would pay, Tsunade would make sure of that – and she knew just the right man for the job.

"You will know once you meet your team leader," was all she cryptically said.

* * *

><p>Itachi made no effort to announce himself in Tsunade's office, not the barest thud of noise, not the merest flare of chakra. The Hokage was expecting him to deliver his report at noon, but Itachi didn't expect to find a limp mess of a woman draped across the Godaime's leather armchair when he arrived. Murmurs fell from her lips, saliva slavering down her chin, limbs sprawled in awkward angles, eyes dazed, unfocused. It wasn't the first time Itachi had seen her in such a state, but she usually kept herself off the booze until after the sun had set. Even wasted as she was, Tsunade still recognized him though, and that was all Itachi cared for.<p>

"Good…you are…here...Itachi."

It was a slurred string of words that surprisingly made sense. If she was lucid enough to identify his ANBU mask then she was better than his initial estimation. Itachi knelt on the floor before her desk as he was supposed to.

"Hokage-sama."

"Up…stand up. I can't see you…down there."

Or maybe she wasn't. Nevertheless, he made no comment, only rose to his full height with animal grace, one fluid motion.

"I have a _mission_…for you."

That was unusual, especially since Itachi had returned from a mission only a few hours prior. It was unlike Tsunade to assign missions without consideration for her shinobi's physical state or chakra reserves. Even in her drunk state, Tsunade wouldn't act as recklessly or thoughtlessly. Itachi was, of course, capable of completing whatever mission she threw at him, but that wasn't the issue. The fact that Tsunade had bent her ethics could only mean two things. It was either an urgent mission and no other ANBU with the required skillset was available _or_ it was not a mission but rather a personal favor that he'd detest and flatly refuse to do. How she intoned the word _mission_ made Itachi inclined to believe it was the latter. He waited quietly for her to elaborate, though she might have passed out if the light snoring sounds she made were any indication.

"Hokage-sama?"

If she didn't respond, Itachi would simply ask Shizune if there was indeed a mission with his name on it. If it wasn't, he'd pass her his report and leave. No need to entangle himself in the Godaime's shady schemes – which most likely included a debt collector and his swift disposal.

Tsunade stirred at the sound of his voice, raised half-clouded eyes in his direction, though a little off the mark.

"Hm…oh yeah. You're in charge of some brats."

Itachi must have misheard her despite having perfect hearing. Her chest undulated then, laughter spilling forth, but it wasn't natural, more like cackling.

"ANBU! They want to join…ANBU!"

He waited for her to come out of whatever fit had possessed her while he pondered the implications of what he'd learned so far. Drunk Hokage. Personal favor. ANBU rookies. It all made sense. Tsunade could only be referring to one team. Team Kakashi. His brother's team. Out of all Konoha shinobi, there was but one who made her drink in the middle of the day. Uzumaki Naruto. His brother's teammate.

"With all due respect, Hokage-sama –"

A growl crawled out from her throat, ill-natured, pure aggression. Itachi stared at her, noted how her eyes had heated – fulgent gold, seething with fury, promise of violence and pain.

"Don't you dare say it, Uchiha." She glared at him for one suspended moment then slumped back with a heavy groan.

Itachi wisely remained quiet, deathly calm.

"I told them there was a test. I don't know what you'll do, and I don't much care so long as they don't die, but show them what ANBU means…and fail _Naruto_."

The way she uttered the last name was strained, pitiful, almost a whine. Given the circumstances, Itachi could merely nod, take his leave, and seek out Kakashi.

* * *

><p>"– and then Lee finished me off with…"<p>

"Mhm."

"…my beloved Lee – _so_ good…"

"Good for you."

"– the springtime of his…"

"You don't say."

Kakashi turned another page of his Icha Icha Tactics, muting out a drone of phrases like _peak of youth_, _green beast,_ and many colorful euphemisms that in the mouth of anyone other than Maito Gai would be obscene and, a couple years back, signs of pederasty. Then again, he was reading porn in a dango shop packed with children and families. In broad daylight, with no consideration whatsoever. _Meh_. Kakashi ordered another dango serving, turned another page, and Gai glorified another of Lee's youthful wonders.

Then he felt it. Heavy. Familiar. Throbbing with lethal intent, chakra glissaded on the nape of his neck. _Itachi_. The Copy nin slid his book inside his pouch, excused himself – not that Gai even heard him – and stepped outside. The back alley whelmed with shadows and chill, empty save for one masked figure reclining against the stone-made wall of the dango shop.

"So it is you, Itachi."

The ANBU shinobi greeted his former superior with a shake of his head.

"Kakashi-san." Itachi's voice was low, death melted into sound, dragged memory to the surface. Blood. Metal. The tang of murder. Night terrors. Horripilation crawling over skin.

Kakashi shrugged, thrust old-felt sensations into the dark matter of his nucleus.

"I had a feeling it would be you, all things considered."

The phrase held another meaning now, related to the reason Itachi came to see him.

"You knew the Hokage has a soft spot for the Jinchūriki." Kakashi could guess what the next question would be before it rolled off Itachi's lips. "Why didn't you stop them?"

"From making a mistake?" It was left unspoken, but Kakashi heard it, felt compelled to give it voice. He shook his head, chuckled, husky and bitter and a little forlorn. "That's how we learn, isn't it?" It wasn't something debatable. Itachi's silence attested to that, if nothing else.

"Besides, they might be suited for it." Even Kakashi believed merely one third of that, if he had to be honest. "Sasuke at least."

"Has anyone of them ever killed?"

"In cold blood?" Another expected question, another unspoken thing Kakashi felt compelled to voice. "They would have." He paused, contemplating how much to reveal, but decided it would do more harm than good to keep things from Itachi if he was to be their new mentor.

"If Sakura wasn't there. She healed them an inch away from death."

Silence stretched between them, charged with naked animus, making the air chiller still.

"A medic nin."

Kakashi couldn't help but chuckle again.

"Not fond of them, are you?"

The lack of reply was answer enough.

"Itachi." Something slipped in Kakashi's tone, reminiscent of old days, how he used to talk to Itachi – dominant, a bit lofty, _listen, boy_ kind of voice. "It might be good for her. She's not as soft as you think."

Itachi was the one to chuckle this time, though Kakashi couldn't tell if it was his words – the admission that he had let his team join ANBU _on purpose_ – or his tone that provoked it.

"Your teaching methods were always controversial."

It was not a lie, but not the truth either, not in this case at least.

"I didn't teach you anything you didn't already know."

* * *

><p>Sakura surveyed her surroundings slowly, carefully, etching every nook and cranny, every face and body, into memory. ANBU's briefing room was rather Spartan, stripped down to the bare absolute – walls, light fixture, table, chairs, coffee machine – and currently occupied by half a dozen ANBU members, not counting Sakura and her teammates. A susurrus of intrigue brewed in quiet corners, their names exchanging tongues and ears, cocky grins and bets being made. <em>Very<em> _discreet_. It seethed on the tip of her tongue, clawed to be released, and Sakura might have been bold enough to come out and say it if Itachi hadn't walked into the room right then. Whispers and belligerence withered and died away in an instant. With slow, even strides, Itachi approached them; with each step he took, one more nosy ANBU exited the room, until they were left alone by the time he reached them – which couldn't have been more than seconds.

She felt more than saw Sasuke stand a little straighter beside her, stiffer. Her eyes were too engrossed in studying the older Uchiha, the angles of his face, his lithe posture, cataloguing similarities and differences between the siblings. Sakura had once glimpsed Itachi in passing, but merely that. _He feels like ANBU…_ The thought came unbidden, nestled in the forefront of her mind. Shivers snaked along her vertebrae, awe titillated her nerve endings – and then he spoke.

"Name yourselves."

It was cold – a shark in deep waters, coming to the surface, jaws open and teeth sharp-tipped. Sakura took a shallow inhalation, almost stepped back.

Naruto was either oblivious to the cutting presence of Itachi or naturally fearless. He smiled at the ANBU captain – a genuine, sunny _smile_. "Uzumaki Naruto. I like ra-"

"This isn't a genin orientation." Itachi's serrated tone slew Naruto's easygoing attitude.

Sakura licked her lips, stomach twisted into tight knots. "Haruno Sakura."

"Uchiha Sasuke." It almost sounded like a challenge, how his chin rose, the way his eyes flashed crimson for a fragment of a second, not that Itachi acknowledged these signs.

"My name is Uchiha Itachi, and I'm your team leader. You'll refer to me as taichō, and _nothing_ else."

The last phrase scythed back and forth, dripped deadly impulses. Sakura corrected her judgment; Itachi _had_ heard the challenge issued – and had sliced it into bloody hunks of flesh.

"Hai, taichō." It was unanimous, but Sasuke's voice rang a little lower than the rest, grudging even.

"Good." A mere tilt of Itachi's chin. He then retrieved a scroll from an inner pocket, threw it at Sakura. "Standard ANBU uniform, equipment, and operation manual are included. Memorize it."

"Hai, taichō."

Sakura slipped the scroll into her pouch, almost exhaled a sigh of relief. Orientation was coming to an end. Sasuke might have had his reasons for wanting to enlist in ANBU, the main one standing before them, arctic and imposing, but Sakura would give him an earful once the torture session was over. Training genin seemed like a _very_ appealing idea right now, one that she would plant into his stubborn head until it sprouted roots.

"My personal rules now."

A nerve pinched in her neck, little hairs stood on edge all over her body. It wasn't merely cold; it transcended that, plunged into abysmal waters and the monsters dwelling within. Even Sasuke succumbed to wariness.

"You do not act friendly with me, whether on missions or outside. I'm your superior, never forget that."

Itachi paused, as if waiting for something – something that eluded Sakura. Sasuke gave a short, tense nod, and Sakura followed his example with Naruto.

"Defy me once, talk back, or annoy me, and you're out."

Another pause. Another nod.

"Lastly."

Respiration struggled in her lungs. Sakura clung to that _lastly_ with bated breath. One more rule. Just one more.

"No sex."

Her breath poured out of her mouth with an audible _whoosh_, lungs burning hotly. Sakura felt dizzy, almost swayed on her feet; she couldn't even process what he had said until Naruto's voice clattered into the briefing room.

"Forever?"

It was so unexpected, so random, that Sakura thought maybe Itachi had made a joke. Impossible, but she wasn't thinking clearly, had perhaps suffered brain damage under the mental pressure and lack of air. Itachi's eyes slashed through each and every one, deliberate, with the precision of a surgeon.

"Sexual relations between members of this team are prohibited. I don't care what you do outside of ANBU, but you cannot fuck your teammates."

"That's not –" _Shut up, Naruto. _Sakura might have been petrified, but her elbow somehow collided with Naruto's ribs. Sasuke shifted beside her, cleared his throat, and before her elbow could somehow collide with his ribs as well, he was speaking.

"What about the initiation test?"

Itachi's fraught pause was foreboding. Sakura licked her dry lips again, hung on Itachi's.

"_I_ am your test." Gelid – eyes, voice, words. "If I don't think you fit in, I'll state it in my monthly evaluation, and you'll be dismissed."

Sakura swallowed thickly, nodded when Sasuke did. Copying him was her safest choice at this point.

"There is no mission today. Take the time to memorize the rules – or file your withdrawal."

Itachi gave them one last, meaningful stare then turned his back and walked out of the briefing room.

Sakura wanted to do many things – collapse, scream at Sasuke, punch Naruto – but she merely stood eerily still, rediscovering how to breathe.

"Your brother is a jackass. I don't get why you idolize him." Naruto sounded _too_…normal, as if he hadn't just been subjected to the insanity that was their new ANBU captain.

"Moron." Sasuke's face twisted slightly, ghost of a grimace, but he, too, appeared quite unaffected. "You think this is the Academy?"

"Temee…now you're parroting him."

They had lapsed into their usual repartee with such ease and naturalness that Sakura began to doubt their humanity. Her teammates had nerves of steel, or weren't human. She was leaning toward the latter. A tug on her shoulder shook her lightly, brought her out of whatever mindfuck she'd endured.

"Ne, Sakura-chan, you think he's a jackass, too, right?"

"He's…intense." It was more of a soulless whisper than an actual remark, but Naruto took it as that, didn't quite catch the awe webbing the adjective, and began anew his altercation with Sasuke.

"Which means jackass. There, Sakura-chan agrees."

"You're just bugged about the no sex rule."

"What's up with that anyway?"

"Does it matter? Either way, I don't want to screw you or Sakura or…my brother."

"You mean _taichō_."

"Whatever."


	3. Chapter 3

Sakura was the first to call it a night, albeit it was quite early. Kakashi hadn't even joined them yet at the pub they'd gathered to relax, drink, and celebrate their ANBU initiation when Sakura claimed weariness and took her leave. Copper and amethyst and gold, high and low in the sky, she dragged her body home, feeling depleted, though that mostly applied to her mental state. If Sakura wished to be honest, she just didn't have the energy to fool around and smile and listen to her teammates bickering like an old married couple when she had suffered blow after blow ever since the day had begun. The despair of separation, the madness of joining the assassination squad, the cold, intimidating nature of their new captain, the callous way in which Sasuke had flatly stated he wasn't even attracted to her body, much less her personality – it all sank in slowly, lash after lash, each one stinging, raw flesh and nerves over-sensitized, mind knotted into a skein of malaise.

Her footsteps were heavy, weighted down and noisy, not a shinobi's steps but a heart-sore woman's. She unlocked her door, merely bothered to switch on a lamp, grab a bottle of wine, and plop herself down on her old-worn couch. A short laugh escaped her throat as she poured her sorry self a drink. Bone-dry, self-mocking. What did she expect anyway? For Itachi to dowse them in praise and reassurances, or for Sasuke to profess his undying love to her? The fact that they would remain a team – excluding Kakashi, technically – that she would laugh and cry and mess around with her boys still, should have been enough for Sakura. _But it isn't_. Sakura wanted her erotica-addicted teacher with his insufferable tardiness and eye-creased smiles as her team captain; she wanted missions done in the light of day, not in the dead of night, her hands clean and guilt-free, not clammy and blood-drenched; she wanted Sasuke to be a little less of what he was and a little more of what she craved him to be. She _wanted_ – but she _couldn't_ have. Not anymore, not ever.

A bark of laughter touched the rim of her glass. Sakura washed it down with a generous gulp. Itachi's personal rules swirled in her mind, spike-edged, abrading her brain cells and testing her depth of illation. She might not have been a natural-born genius like Shikamaru, but Itachi's reasoning wasn't entirely lost on her. On the contrary, it was quite facile to infer once fear and shock had seeped away. People could suppress emotions into a small, tight ball, spurn them into the recess of their core, but eyes would still linger, heat would still swell, instinctive reactions, untethered. Sex, even detached and impersonal, was a connection, something that bonded people, made them aware of each other in a way that could prove hazardous on missions. Love even more than sex, but Sakura guessed Itachi hadn't mentioned that because love didn't even exist in his vocabulary, much less in his perception.

If Naruto and Sasuke were cut down before her eyes, Sakura's feet would probably turn toward Sasuke, toes curling and innards twisting, hesitating for a split moment before she sprinted toward him, praying and begging that Naruto would last long enough until she had given first aid to the Uchiha. Sakura was ashamed to admit it, and that was exactly why she couldn't deny it. She would be honest about it, if nothing else. What Itachi expected from his teammates surpassed even that; he demanded that Sakura prioritize the mission above everything else, that she leave both of her boys writhing on the ground, bleeding out and dying, while she completed their mission. He wanted her to be an _ANBU_ shinobi, not a _medic_ nin, not a _human_ being. She could see it in the cruel luster of his eyes – eyes so dark, eclipsed with things never meant to be spoken aloud. It wasn't their color that made them black but what lay inside of them.

What terrified Sakura more was the thought that she might one day come to possess the same eyes.

* * *

><p>Sakura's head throbbed, tiny needles prickling, sliding deeper whenever she tried to form thoughts. It was rather ironic, she mused, that she would be sporting a hangover the only time Tsunade didn't. The Godaime was smirking at her with a knowing glimmer in her eyes, almost too satisfied with herself. Sakura would argue that the sole reason her master didn't suffer from Sakura's current ailment was that Tsunade had passed out from late afternoon till well into the night yesterday, depriving her of the opportunity to drink herself to sleep, yet giving her the chance to recover till morning – according to Shizune – but her head ached too much and her tongue was too swollen to make such an elaborate argument. Hence, she settled for glaring at Tsunade while trying to make it seem as if she wasn't. It was a lost cause; Sakura was too transparent for such canny tactics.<p>

"Don't look at me like that, girl." Tsunade might have used the tone she only reserved for reprimanding her, but Sakura could tell it was a façade. That scintilla of amusement in Tsunade's eyes gave her away.

"Just because you're in ANBU doesn't mean you're not _still_ my disciple. I've got an autopsy with your name on it, and I expect the results on my desk by tomorrow morning. "

Sakura resigned herself to the task with a sigh.

"Hai, shishō."

"Besides, if you can't multitask, I've misjudged your abilities."

"Hai, shishō."

"Not to mention, you might not even make the cut. If this ANBU thing doesn't work out, I've got _great_ plans for you."

The way Tsunade emphasized that word told Sakura all she needed to know. Her master had previously made arrangements for her; Sakura's rash decision to follow Sasuke's demented lead had ruined them; and Tsunade had still not given up on them.

"I'm not quitting, shishō."

Tsunade clicked her tongue, sank back into her armchair.

"Well, it was worth a try." Her pique ebbed much the way it had begun – in an instant. "So tell me, what's your impression of your new captain?"

Sakura had known Tsunade long enough not to be startled by her sudden change of subject, but she didn't like the impish light that shone in her gaze just then, or how her lips arched, slyly curved.

"Quite handsome, eh? No need to thank me."

A snort made its way out of her nasal cavity before Sakura could smother it, not that she would have tried too hard in this case. She shrugged, humoring her master.

"I was a bit preoccupied by his death glare to notice if he's handsome or not, but he's an Uchiha, so I guess that goes without saying."

At least the sarcasm in Sakura's tone made Tsunade chuckle. Too bad Sakura couldn't find the same humor in it.

"Come on, girl. He's not _that_ bad."

"Shishō." Sakura's tone was drier than ever. "Even his mirror must be afraid of him."

"Hm." The Godaime tapped a manicured finger against her chin, quite thoughtful. "Itachi hasn't been in a team for five years. I guess that didn't sit too well with him and he took it out on you."

Sakura's mouth almost dropped.

"_Five_ years? Why?"

Something told Sakura she wouldn't like the answer her master was about to give, judging by the wryness in Tsunade's grin and the small shake of her head.

"Because I decided to put medics in ANBU teams. That brat…so cheeky."

Sakura stared at her for a few seconds, absorbing what Tsunade had revealed.

"Wait…shishō." Incredulity marred the expanse of her forehead. "Does that mean you assigned me on a team with a captain who is predisposed to _hate_ me?"

Tsunade merely shrugged, but Sakura wasn't fooled. Her master never made such blunders, never assigned team members without some kind of motive that would prove to be beneficial. What slipped past the seam of Tsunade's mouth put more pressure on Sakura, additional expectations.

"I figured if anyone could change his mind about medic nin, it would be _you_." She waved a hand with an airy gesture as if she hadn't just tasked Sakura with an impossible mission. "And I'm sure he doesn't _hate_ you. Itachi doesn't have it in him to feel so strongly about anyone, really."

"Great." Sakura's tone could be even drier as it seemed. "Thanks a lot, shishō."

"You were the one adamant about joining ANBU. I merely took advantage of the situation to solve some issues."

If Sakura didn't know any better, she'd swear Tsunade was pouting – but she _did know better_.

"Shishō, you can admit it. I know you put us under him because you hoped he'd make Naruto quit."

"That as well."

* * *

><p>Tsunade chuckled softly once Sakura left her office. The girl was easy to tease, too susceptible – but that would change soon. She almost regretted it, yet shinobi weren't granted such luxuries. Sakura was quite lucky to not have been a shinobi in the midst of war, but seasons changed in a breath of time. It was better to have a bite of things to come than swallow them whole once they came. The last tremor of her chuckle died away with a sigh.<p>

"How long do you plan on lurking in the shadows?"

Itachi was already kneeling on one leg in front of her desk before Tsunade even finished her question.

"Hokage-sama."

A smirk stretched across Tsunade's lips.

"Is your mirror really afraid of you, Captain? Shame…for such a handsome face."

Itachi didn't deign that with an answer, not that Tsunade expected one. She had purposefully summoned Itachi at the same time she did Sakura to judge reactions, but neither of them acted in a manner she hadn't predicted.

"Here." The scroll she tossed at him disappeared in the blink of eye. "I went easy on them since this is going to be their first ANBU mission. The mission report is a given, but I also expect a full report based on their performance."

"Understood."

She stared at the empty space he had occupied mere seconds ago. Too late to even regret it now.

* * *

><p>Sakura didn't even have time to familiarize herself with the clinical history or review the patient's hospital records, much less begin the actual autopsy Tsunade had assigned her, when she received the summons for her first ANBU mission. It was a <em>crow<em> – jet-black and soft-feathered, long-beaked and beady-eyed, so small and fragile nestled in the curve of her palms, the white cylinder strapped on its leg glaringly antithetical to the bird's very existence. She stared at it, blinked once; it stared at her, cawed once. In a daze, moving mechanically, she uncoiled the string, retrieved the cylinder, and the crow disintegrated in her hands as if it had never been there. She rubbed her arms to rid herself of the chills that ominous bird had brought with it, read the message, and that was how she now found herself in ANBU's briefing room, staring at its ominous owner.

"Mission details and targets' profiles." Itachi handed them three separate scrolls this time, one for each of them. "You have ten minutes to memorize them."

No one dared utter more than a _hai_, _taichō_, fingers unfurling the scrolls, eyes devouring everything inscribed, committing names, faces, abilities, _all_ to memory. Minutes passed by, sweat trickled down Sakura's nape in thin, serous lines, heart throbbing inside her ribcage with irregular beats.

It was unlike any mission she had ever undertaken; they were supposed to eliminate a mafia group that terrorized their client's town. Murder, drugs, trafficking, extortion, money laundering – they were involved in many shady affairs, and their influence would soon spread over the whole region. The mafia group, leader and goons, were meeting with the head of a rival mafia and his group for negotiations at an inn in a neutral territory. Her team was supposed to make it appear as if negotiations had fallen out and the gangs had wiped each other out. The mafia bosses had hired a few shinobi for extra protection, but they were low level rogue nin in the bingo book, nothing to worry about, except for their sheer numbers, and the reason Tsunade had accepted the mission despite involving mainly civilians. The rogue nin were _Konoha_ nin, and needed to be dealt by Konoha.

"The inn the targets are staying at is in a residential area. Be quiet, quick, and leave no trace, _nothing_ that would link this to Konoha. I will take up the upper floor where the main target resides. Distribute the lower floors amongst you."

Sakura swallowed thickly, tongue dry, stuck to the roof of her mouth; she could only give a wordless nod, as did her teammates.

"Mission begins in ten minutes. Get ready."

When Itachi walked out of the room, the temperature rose, air filtered through her lungs, but her insides burned, organs constricted, snakes slithering beneath her skin, tendons pulled tight, blood roaring in her ears. Sakura donned the black uniform, metal arm guards and gloves, grey flak jacket, strapped the katana on her back, but held the porcelain mask tensely, gazed at her reflection in the locker room's mirror one last time. The woman she saw resembled her, but her eyes were tinted with a darker hue, color had leeched away from her complexion – Itachi was standing _behind_ her. Her gaze grew wide, teeth bit the inside of her cheeks, hollowed flesh, copper flooding her mouth – and then _he_ _moved_. It was imperceptible, cool skin gliding over the shell of her ear but breath warm, perspiring.

"You are even afraid of your mirror."

He was gone in a flash, so quickly, that Sakura almost believed she had imagined it – but the lobe of her ear was afire, his voice roiled inside her mind, precipitated odious and gruesome things. Mercilessly. Sakura put on her mask then – because she didn't want to see the woman reflected in the mirror any longer.

* * *

><p>She couldn't feel the night wind; it ricocheted off her mask, her flak vest, barely touched the strips of exposed skin on her arms. The spiraling tattoo there blazed hotter than when it was being etched, black ink and necrosis, legion cells slain in the process of acquiring it. Sakura couldn't think of anything more fitting. Slowly, distantly, awareness warped, instincts on hyper-alert; woods, trees, towns, people. The <em>Inn<em>. Sakura had the distinct feeling that she wasn't supposed to be here, that this wasn't what she was supposed to be doing tonight. But _what_ was she –

_Ah. Autopsy._ Tsunade had tasked her with yet another mundane autopsy of some man from some clan with some importance. But a _crow_ had come. Fucking crow. Tsunade would have an apoplexy if she ever learned the autopsy room had been contaminated by the likes of it. Sakura entertained the idea for a sliver of a second, but discarded it; she would be the one to sterilize the room in the end.

Someone touched her shoulder, whispered something in her ear; she nodded on pure reflex. There wasn't even the lightest breath of wind now; walls, rooms, doors. Sakura slipped into the first room on her left, quiet, quick, like the man with the crow had ordered. Sakura was obedient, followed orders, unlike Naruto and Sasuke – but she _really_ should be doing that autopsy by now.

The cadaver was waiting for her. It was unusually warm and tender, though. _Better_. The skin was more malleable, easier to work with this way.

_Begin with the Y-shaped incision at a point near the acromial extremity of the clavicle, extend in a curve below the corresponding breast to the xyphiod process of the sternum, and thence in similar manner to the opposite acromial extremity._

She cut low and deep, from one ear to another; the blade moved smoothly, nothing but the hiss of metal on flesh, choking sounds and spasms, over too soon.

_Lesions noted in the external examination may be removed by excising a small ellipse which includes the subcutaneous tissue as well as the dermis._

Arteries and veins; trachea; spine; spinal cord; muscles and ligaments. Sliced. Severed.

_Open the thorax by cutting the costal cartilages just medial to the costochondral junction. Disarticulate the sternoclavicular joints by cutting the capsular ligaments._

Blood, hot and viscous, slipping through her fingers, seeping into her pores, splattered over her mask and dripping down her flak jacket.

_After removal of the chest plate, the position of the mediastinum, great vessels and heart should be determined in relation to fixed anatomical landmarks._

_Again_. And again. And again. Room after room. Cadaver after cadaver.

* * *

><p>Sleeping targets were truly a <em>tedious<em> affair; _civilian_ sleeping targets even more so; targets for _babies_. The handful of rogue nin mixed into the flock were no better. Tsunade was too soft. Based on ability alone, she shouldn't have assigned them such an easy mission. But mentality was another matter, autonomous, with its own selfdom. What Tsunade didn't realize was that the difficulty of the mission made no difference when it came to the _first_ _kill_. It could be a civilian, an S class criminal, a genin, a Kage – and it would still feel the _same_. What that _same_ meant was also dependent on the person. It could be guilt, joy, remorse, thrill – and it would be at its zenith. If there was something even remotely interesting about this mission, Itachi reckoned it was to discover what it would be for the babies Tsunade had made him string along.

Below his floor was Sasuke, and he was almost done, judging by the sparse heartbeats. Naruto below that, his floor quite noisy. Itachi guessed he must have hesitated on his first target, and that woke up the rest. The last floor was deathly quiet, absent pulses, sounds, movements. Sakura was stationed on that floor, but Itachi couldn't detect her chakra there, which made this even more peculiar. He couldn't pinpoint her signature chakra anywhere in the building to be precise.

"Taichō." Sasuke's voice was an amalgam of pride and displeasure. It made sense, in a way. His brother would be dissatisfied with targets not worth his time – and he would show it.

"Make this noise cease." A downcast slant of his neck, and Sasuke was already gone.

The scent of blood was overpowering, thickly viscid, when Itachi reached the lowest floor, but it couldn't not be. Lines and blotches stained the floors, bloody handprints on the walls, dark red leaking beneath doors. It was…a mess, too much and unnecessary, but he supposed he'd give her a passing mark for morbid humor. He stared at the wall on his right, chuckled at what –

"What the hell?"

Naruto on the other hand…too noisy. Itachi raised his hand, bidding him silence.

"We are done here."

Then he turned his back to leave first, sure they'd follow.

"What about Sakura-chan? Where is she?"

Aggravatingly noisy.

"She went ahead."

The message on the wall was smeared beyond recognition by now, blood dribbling and caking over it, but Itachi had been early enough to read it while it was still visible. _Fucking crow_. He felt like chuckling again.

* * *

><p>The water was scalding against her skin, slinked down her body in clear streaks, but pooled around her feet in a hue disturbingly similar to her hair color. She didn't like it, clawed at her sides, made it redder, darker, anything but <em>that<em> shade – the shade of shame and disgust. Her knees buckled, her eyes stung, and in her mouth acrid blood welled and spilled from her bitten lips. Its taste coalesced with memory, snaked into her mind, excruciatingly slow, like a blood-red film of movies children aren't allowed to watch. _Breathing_ cadavers. Had she _really_ –? Her abdomen cramped, contracted painfully, as if worms were wiggling inside, eating at her flesh, chunk by chunk. Bile gathered in the pit of her stomach, churned, and she welcomed it, let it fester, melt her viscera – sepsis, corrosion from the inside out. It wouldn't come out though, so she let the only thing that would. _Tears_. Sakura cried – until the water was cold and translucent around her feet.

* * *

><p>Tsunade stared at the sake bottle sitting innocently upon her desk, as full and pristine and tempting as it was an hour ago. Gritting her teeth, she leashed the impulse to change that. If she began, she wouldn't stop, and Tsunade wanted to be lucid when Itachi returned – right about <em>now<em>. Her eyes darted to the large window on her left, then to her right, then behind her, but there was no sign of him. If he delayed one more minute –

_There_ he was! One cloaked ANBU shinobi by the name of Itachi. Tsunade skipped greetings, plunged to the heart of the matter, itching for that bottle with a viciousness that would scare Ibiki.

"How was the mission?"

"Successful."

"Of course it was. _You_ were there." She clicked her tongue, slashed him with a glare, open and baneful. "Don't play coy with me, Itachi. You know very well what I asked you."

"Is the report not sufficient enough?"

Itachi was testing her patience, and it has hanging by a very thin thread that was about to snap if he made another similar retort. "I'm sure it is, but I'm asking you _now_." Apparently, it showed.

"He is noisy."

There was not an iota of doubt regarding the identity of that noisy person. Obnoxiously noisy, Tsunade added. But Itachi was missing an important point – and Tsunade felt the urge to enlighten him.

"Oh please. If Naruto was _really_ being noisy, we'd have heard him all the way _here_. You haven't heard noisy yet."

Her cynicism was lost on Itachi. Tsunade might as well have been speaking to a log.

"Sasuke is fine. Once he learns how to control his emotions, there shouldn't be a problem."

She hummed, inched closer to that sake bottle. It was a losing battle. Her need to slake her alcohol cravings was greater than the welfare of her shinobi, and that made her draw back, tether her cursed impulses. She would not submit to a mere liquid. Not now. Later.

"And Sakura?"

"Adequate."

One measly, clipped word. It was enough to make her forsake her addiction, regard him with curiosity. Itachi had more or less claimed a medic nin could fit in ANBU – if she hadn't misread him. Sometimes it was hard to tell with him.

"Heh." Her mouth curled in a half-smirk, victory and taunt. "Not bad for a _medic_ nin, is she?"

Itachi didn't reply immediately and, when he did, it wasn't anything Tsunade would have _ever_ predicted.

"For someone who cried herself to sleep in her shower."

She would have scoffed at him had Itachi not been who he was. Such mannerisms never had the desired reaction when it came to him. Hence, she opted for sharing her truth with him. Whether or not he chose to imbibe this valuable lesson was to up to him.

"Tears aren't a sign of weakness, you know. Quite the opposite. Those who shed tears are the ones who get back up and try harder."

"It took you two decades to do that."

It was too casual, plaited with indifference. Only he could utter such things in such tones, wrench dreaded memory from the hollows of her core, hurt her where she hurt most. Tsunade's eyes glazed for a quiet moment, then searched for that sake bottle, still needing, still craving, but the emotions behind it vastly discrepant to what they were before he thrust those words in her face.

"Itachi." Her voice was strained, gone husky with anguish, bitter with anger. "Did you also check on the boys afterwards?"

She gave a soft chuckle when he remained silent, soft but cruel, small revenge.

"Thought so."


	4. Chapter 4

Cold. Pain. Shivers erupted, sensational explosions all over her body, rushed from her arms to her abdomen down to her toes, damp skin and gooseflesh. Sakura winced, teeth chattering, jaw trembling, limbs contorted and bent in rough angles. Her lashes fluttered weakly as she tried to raise her lids, groans of misery spilling from her throat. White tiles, shower curtain, soaps and shampoos, inches and inches of nude skin, locks of hair curling down her shoulders, dark rouge and heavy with moisture. Every single bone in her body protested when she made the barest motion to unfurl herself, abhorring the idea to their very medullae. A little at a time, elbows and knees uncurled, muscles and tendons flexed, sleep leeched out from her senses, but the misery remained. _Cold_. _Pain_.

A hiss crawled between gnashing teeth, drawn-out and sibilant. Sakura balanced herself before the mirror, brows almost sewn together in a frown – viridian tenebrous, lifeless, the lines of her face sharper, the juts of her clavicle and hipbones protruding below thin skin, shallow, red welts dragging across her ribs. Her gaze lowered to her clammy hands, traces of tissue and blood beneath her fingernails; her throat felt unbearably dry, tongue saturated with something bitter, foul to her palate. _Toothbrush_…_where_… Her red toothbrush was exactly where it was supposed to be, but it took her a few seconds to locate it. She brushed her teeth sluggishly, relished the familiar taste of toothpaste flooding her mouth, alkali mixed with herbs. _Perfect_.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted pieces of her ANBU uniform, strewn across her white tiles, only they weren't _white_ wherever the garments touched. A shudder pierced through her chest, gastric fluids swirled in her stomach, climbed up her throat, cheeks bloating and eyes stinging. Sakura barely made it to the toilet, hands clutching the toilet seat, knees bruising from the fall, but all that came out was coughs and acidic saliva. Settling back against the soles of her feet, she grabbed some toilet paper, wiped her mouth clean then stood up and brushed her teeth again.

It was _ridiculous_. Sakura hadn't even heaved when Tsunade had flung a fresh-extracted pig liver at her, hitting her straight in the face, because Sakura had been distracted during an anatomy lesson; or when she had to treat a patient with a disturbing case of myiasis; or when a Hyūga kunoichi had been brought in, sexually violated and with empty eye sockets, only to slit her wrists after Sakura had tried her damnedest to repair the damage so she could have an eye transplant. Sakura had seen and done _things_ most people would be unable to stomach – but she endured because those things saved lives. It wasn't as if she had never taken a life either. Sometimes she was forced to euthanize patients with no chance of recovery, and sometimes she delivered a death blow to an enemy in the heat of battle. But she had never _murdered_ people. In full conscience. In cold blood. And now she _had_.

Cold sweat trickled down her spine. She shivered, fully cognizant of what she had done no more than a few hours ago, images avalanching down the mountain of recollection – torn throats, sliced masses of flesh and bone, bordering on mutilation. Sakura had fled the gruesome scene without even asking for permission from her team leader. _No_…_worse_. It went beyond even that. She had more or less left him a message that screamed _fuck_ _you_. Sakura felt like mourning, not for the lives she had taken, but for the loss of something important, so natural, imbued so deeply in her soul, that she thought she'd never come to lose. It was merely the _beginning_, she could tell. ANBU would alter her, rip some parts away, and offer new ones to fill the holes they left. Some things would lessen, others magnify. But she would never be the _same_ again.

Her alarm clock rang, blaring and ear-splitting. _Four_ _a.m_. Sakura must have set it before she collapsed in the shower; she couldn't remember when exactly she did, but the reason raked her mind with sharp talons. _Autopsy_. Tsunade expected the results to be on her desk before she even walked past the threshold of the Hokage tower. At least Tsunade wasn't an early riser, so that gave Sakura five to six hours. She would be cutting it real close, but she would make it. Even the prospect of coming into contact with the cadaver of a man whose death she hadn't personally assisted in was disquieting – and that had _never_ happened before. Reluctance wove its threads into her mind, plaited in one thick noose, and pulled at her but, above all, Sakura was obedient, followed orders, unlike Sasuke and Naruto.

* * *

><p>Tsunade's eyes shifted from the cup of hot green tea on the right side of her desk to the daunting tower of files on the left side, back and forth, lips puckered and dismayed. How Shizune expected her to go through this shitload of work with <em>tea<em> as her fuel was beyond her. _Really_.

"Would you like some coffee, shishō?"

Tsunade cut her apprentice with a glare. The damn brat was sipping at her second cup of coffee, sitting quietly behind the smaller desk on her right, assessing papers and scrolls, and adding to the ever growing pile that swayed precariously on the edge of Tsunade's desk. The dry note coloring her voice hadn't escaped Tsunade either.

"No. I'm sticking to one addiction at a time."

Sakura's brow rose but she kept her mouth shut. It was Tsunade's prerogative to satirize her dependence on alcohol, but unwise for anyone else to make a likewise comment, a lesson Genma painfully recalled during his annual checkups when he had to lose his pants in front of the Godaime.

The pads of her fingers tapped against the little space of wood that was left uncovered on her desk. Tsunade had waited for Sakura to broach the matter of her first ANBU mission on her own, but the girl displayed no sign of ever doing so, and Tsunade was growing impatient with each minute that passed. She waited and waited and waited –

"Are you going to tell me how your mission went any time soon or do I have to beat it out of you?" Never let it be said that Tsunade was known for her patience. Her temper, on the other hand. _Infamous_. Knuckles cracked with a telling sound; lips peeled back in a telling grin. "I certainly wouldn't mind a _break_."

Sakura stared at her, aggravatingly unaffected. Tsunade's intimidating tactics seemed to be failing her when there was no real threat behind them now that her apprentice could read her like an open book. Tsunade almost missed the days when she could turn Sakura into a shaking leaf with nothing but a glare.

"Didn't you read the taichō's report?"

If Tsunade strained her ears, she could catch a certain intonation to Itachi's title, spoken with more fear than respect.

"You still call him that even when he's not around?"

Even the way Sakura nodded carried the same quality.

"What did he do? Threaten to kill your firstborn if you didn't?"

"As if he has to resort to threats…"

It was nothing but a murmur under Sakura's breath, but Tsunade still heard it. She felt like sighing at Sakura's lack of backbone. Hadn't she taught the girl better than that? Before she could knock some sense into her, Sakura spoke again, revealed that her lack of backbone only applied to Itachi, apparently. She had no qualms about being ballsy with Tsunade.

"I don't know what to say, shishō. Went there, completed the mission, came back. End of story." Green eyes bore into Tsunade's, jaded and tired – of this conversation, of Tsunade's meddling, of being afraid. "Why don't you tell me what you _want_ to know, so I can answer, and we can go back to work?"

A scowl touched Tsunade's forehead, dissolved into a chuckle a few seconds later.

"Cheeky brat…" She shook her head, did sigh then. There was really only _one_ thing Tsunade wanted to know. "Are you all right?"

They measured each other in silence for one long moment.

"No."

It was husky, full of implicit things, and a sultry piece of darkness, but no more than a thin slice of the pome Tsunade had been tasting for years now. Tsunade's lips curved, one loose tilt of carmine, not really a smile.

"It gets easier, Sakura."

She watched as Sakura swallowed that thin slice, emulated that smile.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

><p>Sakura brought the coffee cup to her lips, her fourth this day, closed her eyes. It was potent, creamily aromatic, finely ground coffee beans and the savor of coconuts, almost enough to make her melt in a puddle of bliss. <em>Almost<em>. Her teammates were supposed to meet her at this restaurant for lunch in half an hour, but Sakura had finished early, and decided to wait for them here rather than endure Tsunade's muttered curses. Her workload had been considerably massive today which, by extension, fell on Sakura's shoulders as well. Sometimes she regretted ever pleading with Tsunade to take her under her wing, but Sakura was certain she would be a _nobody_ if it hadn't been for her shishō, always destined to drag her feet behind Naruto and Sasuke. It wasn't that Kakashi didn't recognize her potential – he _did_ – but he just didn't possess the means to draw it out like Tsunade had done.

"Yo, Sakura."

Sakura's mouth curled in a half-smirk. _Speak of the devil_. She merely had to think of him, and he appeared. Kakashi sat down across from her, eye-creased and mask stretched above his smile.

"Kakashi-sensei." Sakura gazed at him under thick lashes, almost coy, a slight tease, and he laughed.

"I'm not your teacher anymore."

Kakashi's smile never left his eye, his mouth, but Sakura could tell there was something different about it now. A challenge. An opportunity. Whether she chose to take it or not relied upon her judgment, but Kakashi had made the move, had laid it out there. The chance to be treated as an adult, to be talked to as an equal. It made her heart palpitate under her breastbone, her blood pump faster inside her veins, thrilled as much as it scared her.

Sakura licked her lips, inhaled deeply. His name rolled naked on her tongue.

"Kakashi…"

Something slick and heavy pulsed and coiled around the name. Sakura felt as if she had said something she shouldn't, but it was too late to take it back, nor did she want to. It was strange and empowering and she liked it.

Kakashi wasn't smiling now.

"Good."

It was low and layered with rasp. Sakura struggled to understand what was so different about it, why she had never noticed this quality in his voice before, but it only dawned on her when he smiled one of his usual smiles again. Kakashi had simply never used this kind of tone with her because Sakura had never uttered his name in this way before. She had never seen him as a man, and so he had never treated her as a woman. The insane urge to laugh bubbled inside of her. All these years she had craved his approval…and all she had to do to gain it was murder a few people. Sakura would never understand the mysterious and enigmatic ways in which Kakashi's mind worked. Hence, she smiled back, as if nothing had happened, _nothing_ at all.

"Are you joining us for lunch?"

"Nah, Gai challenged me to –" Small pause. Small frown. "I forgot what it is about this time."

Sakura was inclined to believe he had forgotten all about Gai in general, but conveniently remembered when she extended that invitation. Her smile turned a little bit wry.

"How long has he been waiting by now?"

"Well, there was the cat rescue, then the elderly lady with the groceries, then the –"

"Kakashi-sen-" Sakura caught herself mid-sentence, corrected herself, but she was already laughing and he was grinning and she just didn't care. "Kakashi! You're unbelievable with these bold-faced lies, you know that?"

Her body was still shaking with peals of laughter when he leveled her with a knowing stare.

"I heard you went on your first mission last night."

_Ah_. It suddenly made sense. If Tsunade was concerned about her then so would Kakashi but, somewhere in the back of her mind, Sakura had thought that he wouldn't bother with her as he would with Sasuke or Naruto. And she had been _wrong_, so terribly wrong. Because he _did_ care, a lot more than she'd ever guess. He had made that perfectly clear today.

"Yeah…we did."

Sakura was still familiarizing herself with this newly discovered side of Kakashi, didn't know what to expect, but certainly not what he gave. There was an impish glint in his eye, something masculine and playful in his voice.

"First time sucks for girls."

_Sexual_ _humor_. Now that was a first. Sakura barely suppressed a bark of laughter, pinned him with a sharp stare, voice drenched with sarcasm but it was light, as playful as his.

"Did you also say that line to the boys?"

"You're special, so you get the good lines."

She _almost_ believed him. A sigh worked its way out of her lips once she recalled the catastrophic details of said mission, and she slumped back into her chair.

"It really sucked, though."

Her comment, her sigh, her somber cadence dissipated the light mood but for a moment.

"How bad?"

Sakura locked gazes with Kakashi; she didn't want to miss his reaction when she told him. It would be the deciding factor, would tell her how much she had screwed up.

"I told my team leader to fuck off."

Silence. Kakashi's visible eye appraised her from head to toe, roved over the dips and swells of her body. Slowly. Intently. When she could no longer withstand the weight of his gaze, Sakura cleared her throat, spoke. Uncertain. Apprehensive.

"What are you looking at?"

"Missing body parts. But you appear to be whole."

The casualness of his tone elicited a feminine sound, part snort, part huff.

"I didn't actually tell it to his face. You can look again after I see him. I'm sure there'll be plenty of stuff missing then." His brow quirked, questioning, and she elaborated, albeit rather tensely, discomfort suffusing her body with the reminder. "I wrote it on a bloody wall…literally."

"Ah." If he was surprised, Kakashi hid it very well. That impish glint entered his eye again, gave her a clue of what was coming. "First tim-"

"Oh shush you." Sakura glared at him even as she burst out in laughter. She had set herself up for this one, really. It was her first mission, blood was involved, and she had told the guy to fuck off. _Perfect_. The least she could do was appreciate the humor in it as Kakashi was so prone to do.

"You did well, Sakura."

Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to believe this, but didn't argue either. Kakashi stood then, fluid ascent, and stared down at her with another expression Sakura was seeing for the first time, had trouble deciphering.

"But don't tease a man too much."

It was _that_ voice again, but his words didn't make sense. Sakura opened her mouth to actually ask what the hell he meant. Too late.

"What do you m-"

"Was that Kakashi-sensei? Why didn't he stay?"

Her head whipped toward the direction of the new voice, too abrupt a motion, nearly giving her whiplash. Confused, _tired_ of being confused, she all but grumbled her reply.

"He had a challenge with Gai-sensei."

Naruto sent a concerned gaze her way as he took a seat beside her, soft, blue copper.

"Are you okay, Sakura-chan?"

_No, I'm not okay_. Sakura wanted to say it but couldn't, not to Naruto at least, so she plastered a smile on her face, as cheery as she wasn't.

"Yeah, why?"

Awkward, more cautious than she had ever known him to be, Naruto glanced around, leaned close to whisper in her ear.

"About last night, you know…"

Even though she knew very well, Sakura couldn't have this conversation for the third time this day.

"What about it?"

Her smile never faltered, made Naruto even warier. He appeared to be considering whether to pursue the matter or not when Sasuke cut in from behind them.

"Leave her alone, Naruto. At least she did her part."

Sakura couldn't settle on what surprised her more – the fact that Sasuke had snuck up on her _again_, that he had been there long enough to hear gods knew what, or the information he had just put on the table as he sat down. _Naruto failed…?_

"I told you it wasn't my fault! When I ope-"

"Wait…" She addressed Sasuke more than Naruto seeing as the blond was in the middle of a long rant where he denied everything. "What happened?"

"The idiot got cold feet."

"I didn't! The first guy was awake when I got there."

"You could have taken him out before he had the chance to wake up the whole floor."

"Temee! You weren't even there, so don't tell me what I could have done!"

Sakura wasn't even listening anymore, their usual spat mere white noise in her ears. _First_ _time_. For the first time in her life, Sakura had bested her teammates in something, had completed her mission quicker, with more efficiency – and she had screwed it all up by signing it with a big, red _fuck_ _you_. She didn't know whether she should laugh or cry.

* * *

><p>Her bed was so <em>soft<em> and _warm_. Sleep had claimed her the moment she had lain upon it. But it was now so _hard_ and _cold_. A flux of sensations grazed at her awareness, sharp-edged, dripping with lethality. Sakura had felt them before but her senses were languished, her mind was too slow in piecing the puzzle. _Itachi_. Her eyes popped open, dread infesting her insides, blood chilled with apprehension, and she found herself falling into the abyss, the fathomless black that was her new taichō's gaze. Time stopped. She stared at him, tongue-tied. Myriad thoughts raced in her brain, most envisioning a brutal yet quick death, and she begged to wake up, but she was wide awake. She even attempted to convince herself that he was Sasuke, and that she was safe, but his eyes were more slanted, his lashes more curled, his mien deadlier, the quiet side of animal instincts.

This was _Uchiha_ _Itachi_ – and he was leaning above her, a mere breadth's away, cold so intense it ripened into heat. Shivers lathered on her skin, tingles slithered down her spine. Sakura could even smell him this close. His scent was thickly potent. A crisp fragrance but woodsy with tobacco notes – _he_ _must_ _smoke_ – spicy hints of sage…and the tang of _blood_.

"If I was an enemy, you'd have died five minutes ago."

His voice spilled in her ear, a mingling of smoke and huskiness, heavy, narcotic. It was a low whisper, thick in insinuations, brimming with intent. He _meant_ it. Sakura was stunned, numb. What poured out of her mouth defied logic, but writhed with terror and shock.

"Can I help you?"

Itachi didn't move away, caged her under him without even touching her, merely hovering close. _Too_ close. Her eyes traced the contours of his lips because her ears had ceased functioning. Sakura read the motions of his mouth to infer his words when he spoke, though she couldn't for the life of her understand what he was saying.

"There's an injured fool in your living room."

Still, she replied as if she understood, with the safest word that existed in her limited vocabulary at the moment.

"Okay."

"Heal him."

"Okay."

His eyes became narrower, sharpened, and he must have realized she was barely cogent of what he commanded. The fear of what he would do to _make_ her understand overpowered everything else, unshackled her comatose abilities for cognition – and she _knew_, she _understood_.

"Hai, Taichō."

He drew back then, allowed her to escape the snare of his voice, the danger of his proximity. Sakura all but crawled out of her bed, tilted her neck in a slight nod, and excused herself to do as he bade.

Her fingers fumbled in the dark, trying to locate the light switch of her living room, while feeling circulated in her body again, blood warming in veins and arteries, heart valves strained from their previous fast-paced rhythm. Itachi had almost put her in an early grave merely by _existing_. A _click_ resounded, artificial light bathing the room, glaring and hurting her eyes. An ANBU shinobi was, indeed, lying on her floor, more panting than breathing, hands clutching his abdomen, suppressing the blood flow and keeping him from bleeding out. Sakura knelt beside him, taking in his features, eyes black, hair black, skin white. He was losing too much blood – and that kicked her into gear. Before she could determine his condition though, the man's lips lifted in a shaky smile, open and…endearing.

"Are you an angel?" He coughed more than spoke.

_Possible concussion._


	5. Chapter 5

Sakura examined the shinobi stretched out on the floor of her living room, the green of her irises caliginous, matted with concentration. Her medic bag lay open beside her thigh. Itachi might have scared her half to death, but she had the sense to grab it swiftly from her drawer, once the reason of his visit sank in, blended with years of medical training and instincts ingrained in her. Slowly, carefully, she had undressed him down to the waist, flak jacket, black shirt, arm guards and gloves cut off of him with precision. Perspiration lapped at his skin, clung in the dips and angles of his face and torso – above his brows, in the hollow of his neck, along the lines of his arms, across the expanse of his chest. She pressed down on the wound in his abdomen, slipped a filament of chakra inside, prodding and passing through organs gently, assessing the extent of internal damage.

_Nicked liver. _She exhaled in relief. It was nothing more than a small laceration, easily repaired and uncomplicated, no other major organs involved. He had been very lucky to avoid a critical injury, but the more she studied him, the more she came to realize that _luck_ was probably irrelevant in this case. His eyes were glazed with pain, slightly unfocused, yet unnervingly lucid. It was subtle, cleverly concealed, but Sakura could tell that _she_ was being studied even before she had begun _her_ examination of him. Despite that charming twist of his mouth, and through the haze of blood loss, this man had been quietly observing her. No, Sakura decided, it was not luck that had spared him from a grave wound but _skill_. There was _something_ in those eyes – danger with a smile, visceral temptation, luring her close, and closer, until it was too late to escape – and underneath that, another tone of _black_ lurked, chillingly similar to the kind in Itachi's eyes.

Smoke inundated the atmosphere, filtered through the air she breathed; wood flavors and spices, less sweet, creamier, wafting into her nostrils, filling her lungs. _Smoke…?_ Her neck slanted in the direction of its flow; her gaze traced the misty lines back to their origins. Itachi was sitting on her window sill, one leg drawn up and knee bent at a smooth angle, his back resting lazily against her wall. Pale-thinned coils slid out of his lips with each rise and fall of his Adam's apple, carried by the night breeze deeper into the room. Sakura stared at him, frozen in place, jaw locked tight. She needed to perform an easy yet delicate procedure on a patient, and her psychopath of a taichō was contaminating the air with toxic chemicals.

Something in her expression must have betrayed her thoughts. One tilt of his neck. Sinuous. Languorous. His eyes sought hers, glacial, sundering her discontent, slaying her complaints before they even touched her lips. Teeth sank into soft flesh, red and turning redder; Sakura quelled the merest scintilla of defiance in her eyes. Her survival instincts dictated she _let_ _this_ _go_. Itachi could smoke in every single room of her tiny apartment if he willed – every surface, corner, and furniture – in spite of situation or consequences. Her tongue swept over her abused lip, soothed the bite marks, once, twice – then she was speaking. Low, mellow tones, reserved for upset patients.

"His name?"

"Uchiha Shisui."

Nothing more, nothing less. Sakura refocused her attention on the injured man, pushed Itachi's presence out of her perception. Before mending his liver, she needed to rule out the possibility of a concussion, or worse, an underlying brain hemorrhage.

"Shisui-san, can you hear me?"

He grimaced slightly, gave the barest nod.

"Yup."

A tight-lipped smile tugged on her mouth.

_Response time is excellent._

Lifting one of her hands, she maneuvered his against the wound, made him press down, while she retrieved hers to pick up the flashlight from her bag and check his eyes.

_Pupils dilate. No higher sensitivity to light._

Satisfied, she hummed in approval. The only thing left now was to ascertain if there was memory loss or comprehension issues and, granted there weren't, she could begin healing the obvious trauma.

"My name is Sakura, and I'm a medic. I need you to answer a few questions."

There was a light beneath the pain in his eyes, quite mischievous.

"Sakura…chan?"

Sakura bet he would have grinned if he could but, in his condition, all he managed was a weak smile. Still, it was infectious, made her mouth curve in a quarter of a smile.

"Yes. Do you remember what happened?"

He avoided any physical movement this time, reserved his strength in exchange for words.

"We got ambushed…seemed like they were expecting us. Leaked intel…most probably. I was the decoy…but there were too many…to get away unscathed."

_Quick reaction time. No memory loss._

It was apparent by now that he displayed no signs of a concussion, but just in case she asked one more question.

"Did you also suffer a head injury?"

"No."

Her chin dipped low; her smile grew wider. _Good_. Sakura removed his hands, slow, methodical motions.

"Thank you, Shisui-san. I'm going to stop the internal bleeding and repair your liver now. Bear with me for a while, okay?"

"M'kay."

His lids descended, entrusting himself to her care. A chuckle vibrated in her throat. ANBU or no ANBU, Shisui held a carefree quality, refreshing, though not enough to fool her. She pumped more chakra into his system, numbing the area below his neck down to his pubic bone, and started sealing the tear in his liver. Minutes passed quietly, nothing but the flow of chakra, smoky scents, and labored breaths. His voice broke through the shell of her concentration when she was half-way done, when the anesthesia had seized him fully.

"You're not what I expected."

Even without his implicit admittance, Sakura had guessed he _knew_ her – or of her. His earlier perusal had been too intense for mere curiosity's sake, but she pretended not to have noticed it, feigned mild surprise.

"You've heard of me?"

"Mhm."

There was that grin now, the one he couldn't form before, all white teeth and stretched cheeks and playfulness.

"I see." Sakura decided to take the bait, asked what he was coaxing out of her. "And what did you expect?"

"You're cute..."

He made a sound that could have been a chuckle, possibly laughter under other circumstances. Sakura would have jested that complimenting her wouldn't get him out of a checkup visit, something most ANBU shinobi always tried to avoid, had he given her the chance, but Shisui had only paused for a quick intake of air.

"There aren't many cute girls who can tell _that_ guy to go fuck himself…and live."

Sakura didn't need to follow the telltale motion of his head to see the aforementioned person. It was mostly through experience that her chakra never wavered, her healing remained undisrupted. Color drained from her features, lips ash-thinned, eyes glassy with the presage of what was to come. She swallowed once, hydrated her throat. Her mouth barely parted for a choked whisper, laden with trepidation.

"I never said that."

_Don't look back. Don't look at him. Don't lo-_

"Oh…right." Shisui's voice brimmed with thick amusement. "You painted it in _blood_ on a wall."

Sakura could neither deny nor confirm this. It would sign her death sentence if she did either, she was well aware. Diplomacy wasn't one of her strong suits, but even if it was, she didn't think there was an easy way out of this one. She had dug her own hole deep into the ground, and Itachi would most surely bury her alive.

"Are you done?"

Itachi's voice was calm, _too_ calm, held the pure ice of a winter morning. Her muscles burned and clenched, spasms and contractions, fire spreading through sinew and thews, scorching her from the inside out. She turned toward Itachi because he left her with no choice; she had heard it in the chill of his tone. Sakura nodded, as if in slow motion.

"Soon, taichō."

Itachi wasn't staring at her, though.

"Not you."

Understanding pierced through the glutinous membrane of fear that coated her mind, and she realized that he had addressed Shisui.

"Oh…" she mumbled.

Still, Sakura didn't dare take her eyes off of Itachi, not even when Shisui tried to make some sort of joke, possibly to allay her worries, to soothe her nerves.

"Pay him no mind. He's just shy 'cause y-"

A kunai embedded itself on Sakura's floor, its tip smeared with warm, fresh blood.

"Taichō!"

The scream almost split her throat, echoed above Shisui's hissed inhalation. Sakura had never imagined the day would come when she would be _yelling_ at _Uchiha_ _Itachi_, but yell she did. It was half-shock, half-anger. Shock that he would injure his clansman, probably a relative, over a silly joke; anger that he would injure her patient, in her own home, _over a silly joke_. Her gaze fell on Shisui's neck, assessed the wound as no more than a superficial scrape, but _still_ –

"_Please_…" Husky with heat, seething with restriction, Sakura held his eyes, that black frost, as she spoke to him. "Don't add to his injuries."

It was a request with a drop of command. Silence befell. Tension was crackling in the air, turmoil brewed beneath strung skin. Sakura drew her gaze away, immersed herself in her task, leaving that shallow scratch for last. No more words were exchanged until she finished.

"All done, Shisui-san." Sakura smiled at him but it never reached her eyes. It was suicidal, she knew, but fury laved her bones, made her reckless, and right now, she couldn't care less. Sakura had overloaded on terror, couldn't absorb more of it, and it had burst out of her in what came to her naturally. _Temper_.

"These pills replenish blood." She handed Shisui a tablet of pills when he stood and picked up his ruined clothing, almost absent-mindedly. "Take one every four hours, rest for a day, and you'll be just fine."

Grinning roguishly, Shisui bowed his head in gratitude, but couldn't help himself.

"Don't I get a lollipop?"

A nerve ticked in her jaw. It was _really_ not the time or the place for jokes any longer. Her smile narrowed, adopted feral qualities – a slash of smirk.

"You want one?"

Shisui was a clever man, apparently; he straightened up, shook his head.

"No, ma'am."

"Go back first."

_Itachi_. He was _behind_ her in a flash, caused a wave of disorientation in Sakura, and she lost a slice of her bravado. His voice glided along the slope of her spine, sleek decent; it cooled the fires in her veins, melted blood growing cold.

"It was nice meeting you, Sakura-chan. Thanks for fixing me up."

With one last grin, though less roguish, more genuine, Shisui climbed out of her window, and slinked into the night. Sakura was left alone with the embers of her umbrage sizzling quietly, turning to ash and charcoal – and Itachi at her back. Her lashes lowered, anger evanesced, seeped out of her body, trapped in the lush green of her irises. Sakura closed her eyes, donned a serene veneer, leisurely poised. So long as Itachi remained behind her, so long as she avoided his eyes, Sakura could _play_ the calm and collect act like the best of them.

"Write a report for the Hokage."

Sharp-voiced order, one step closer. She grit her teeth, forced the only words Itachi wanted to hear through them.

"Hai, taichō."

"Don't make a mess next time."

His voice didn't change, but he did take another step. _Closer_. Intrinsic, fear-born, a shiver slithered along the curve of her spine, twisting and snaking around each bone, from the small of her back to the nape of her neck. Her reply didn't change either.

"Hai, taichō."

"Never leave without informing me again."

Still sharp. Still order. _Too_ _close_. His scent permeated the air she inhaled, soaked through layers of skin, smoky and slick venom and hints of male underneath. Sakura disliked smoking. It was bitter and health-ruinous and an adult thing to indulge in – and she hadn't been one long enough to fathom its allure. But she _did_ like the masculine traces. Kakashi had given her a taste, made her cognizant of what a man felt like, what he sounded like, in a way Sasuke had never done – and Itachi possessed the same elements now. Or perhaps he had always possessed them, but Sakura couldn't identify them before. It didn't matter. She was becoming lightheaded, drunk on _that_ scent. Sakura really had no immunity to such things.

"Hai, taichō."

Her voice was more breath than sound – and his scent was stroking the soft skin on the arc of her neck, but maybe those were his lips. She couldn't tell; she could only _feel_. He had been _cold_, so cold, that these sultry sensations were opposite to his very essence in her perception, urged her to madness – and she was the one to take a step back this time. That scent, those lips, moved high, and higher; teeth nipped the lobe of her ear, one lick of tongue, _hot_, so hot.

"Don't tell a man to fuck off then let him into your bedroom."

It wasn't sharp. It wasn't an order. But something else entirely. Blood-heat. It lasted no more than a sliver of a moment – yet it was _enough_. Sakura raised her lids when he was gone, dazed, swaying. The pads of her fingers touched the places he had infected with his scent. They burned and ached, wet and flushed. She had thought that scorning his eyes would save her from the _chill_, but she had never accounted for the _fire_.

* * *

><p>Itachi wasn't surprised to find Shisui waiting for him when he returned home, but his cousin should develop a sense for personal space and respect for other's personal belongings one of these days – or run the risk of a sliced carotid artery, not a mere graze. Shisui lay sprawled across Itachi's futon, twirling the same kunai Itachi had used to cause that scratch on his neck, lips split in a half-grin. For a person who had a near death experience no more than an hour ago he appeared too…lively.<p>

"She's…" He paused, that half-grin relocating to the other side of his mouth, though whether for emphasis or simply to aggravate Itachi was up for debate. "_Sassy_."

Itachi knew that tone too well. It was the kind of tone that foretold much ado about nothing, or as Shisui liked to call it _I think I've found the _one – and Itachi heard it at least once a month. He unstrapped the katana from his back, slung off his flak vest, and placed his mask on the low table by the cushion he lowered himself upon. Indulging Shisui's whims was one of those unnecessarily necessary things Itachi had to deal with while growing up. By now it had become more of a habit. _But not this time. _

"You can't have her."

It wasn't as if Shisui hadn't expected an answer along those lines. They knew each other too well by now not to, but there were still things that eluded his cousin regarding this matter, and he wouldn't remove himself from Itachi's futon until he had learned what they were. The way his half-grin grew to a full grin, how his eyes lit with a gleam of intrigue, told Itachi as much.

"Because…?"

"She's a medic."

Despite this being one of Itachi's main reasons, one that Shisui was perfectly capable of inferring on his own, Shisui craved the little details, wouldn't be appeased by merely that. A rather obnoxious trait he had never outgrown.

"And…?"

Itachi entertained the idea of feeding some believable excuse to his cousin, but he wasn't in the mood to make an effort, and Shisui would probably realize he had been served a load of bullshit during a most inconvenient hour – like when Itachi was sleeping – and make it his life's purpose to extract the real answer by using all means possible. It was rather unthinkable how a person with this kind of personality had become an excellent ANBU shinobi, but Shisui was one of those special cases that Itachi had to acknowledge. His cousin was an antinomy of himself, borderline sociopathic; Shisui was the only ANBU shinobi who killed with a smile on his lips and worked himself to tears after a breakup. Itachi had to admit both made for a rather amusing sight.

Hence, Itachi lit a cigarette, exhaled a puff of smoke, and gave Shisui what he wanted.

"Kakashi-san thinks _highly_ of her."

Hatake Kakashi was the first man Itachi had ever _respected_. To the eyes of his twelve year old self, Kakashi had seemed to be the epitome of an ANBU shinobi. Merciless. Cold. Flawless. Too clever; too fast; too strong. His legacy had been passed down from one generation ANBU to the next through the people he had trained while he still had served amongst them – Itachi being one of them. There were many ANBU who still called him _taichō_ or _senpai, _addressed him with the manner of respect he had earned, whenever they happened to cross paths. When the Sandaime had removed him and tasked him with training genin, Itachi had actually felt _pity_ for the first time in his life – not for Kakashi but for ANBU. Then he had learned that his own brother would be placed under him. It was a connection, something to remind Itachi that his mentor still walked amongst them, still had a duty to perform, though never the one he truly excelled at.

Many times Itachi had watched him as he was coming and going from missions that were a waste of his talents, dragging along three babies who would probably never appreciate the kind of man they had as a teacher. His brother was one thing, exhibited some _small_ potential, but the Jinchūriki was nothing alike Kakashi, could benefit from nothing under his training, and the girl – she was the worst of them all. Some mediocre skill with genjutsu, some measure of intelligence, zero fighting abilities. That was six years ago. While they had grown considerably since then, Itachi's judgment had been validated. The only one whom Kakashi had actually trained was Sasuke; the other two had found mentors of their own. Still, Kakashi believed in them, in their potential, had gone as far as to let them enlist in ANBU – but when Itachi had asked him who he thought would make for an ANBU shinobi, Kakashi's reply had been the least likely of the trio.

_Haruno_ _Sakura_.

Itachi wasn't a fool. He had recognized what it was that Kakashi sought to achieve with his answer. For Itachi to take note of the girl, train her, not dismiss her simply because of her medic nin status. Kakashi knew Itachi even better than Itachi knew Kakashi – and so he had issued a challenge. _If _I_ think she is fit for an ANBU shinobi then she _is_ – and if she fails, it will be because of _your_ poor training_, is what Kakashi had basically implied. Itachi had never once in his life failed a mission – and this had sounded exactly like one. It didn't matter that Kakashi was no longer in ANBU or his captain or his mentor. To Itachi, Kakashi would still be all those things. But it wasn't as simple as that. Because Kakashi had gone to such lengths, there were now only two choices left for Haruno Sakura. Itachi would either make her into a _perfect_ ANBU shinobi – or _thoroughly_ break her. Average didn't exist for Kakashi or Itachi, so it wouldn't for her either.

It wasn't Itachi who vocalized the culmination of his warped reasoning, though.

"Ah…I see. You want to torture her, push her to the breaking point."

Or something close enough. Even Shisui couldn't delve so deep into Itachi's mind.

"But what if she doesn't break?"

Itachi merely shrugged. It was a rather inane question, even for Shisui. "Everyone has a breaking point."

"That is true." Shisui's grin lessened, mere smirk now, one curl of mischief, but it wasn't the light-hearted kind. "Even you. Be careful not to break your own rules."

Itachi put out his cigarette, contemplated his cousin's words, though not in the manner Shisui had meant them. His _rules_… Itachi would have to bend them a little for the next mission, had already begun bending them, to be precise. Seduction was a requirement for this one, and she needed to experience it in order to master it. Itachi much preferred assassination to espionage missions, but ANBU shinobi weren't given the luxury of choice.


	6. Chapter 6

Head hung low, fingers laced behind her neck, her coffee cup untouched, Sakura sighed._ I can't do this… Two days in a row now with no more than three hours of sleep. At this rate, I'll have to rely on soldier pills. _She sighed once more, rubbed her lids, smearing blots of mascara with her careless motions, not that it mattered. The rings under her eyes were the inerasable stains. She could wash the paint off her face, but those rings would only grow blacker, parasites feeding on her sleep.

Tsunade, on the contrary, wore a cloak of delectation, peach-pale skin glowing above her youthful guise. It clashed with Sakura's dreariness and wan complexion in the most striking of ways. Sakura glared at her under the ink of her lashes without even trying to conceal it – and Tsunade smirked. That was _not_ a good sign, made Sakura rather apprehensive of what would come out of her master's mouth. Tsunade didn't fail to deliver.

"How was your late night visit?"

_Ah_. It all made sense now.

"You sent them to me on purpose."

It was a statement, meant to be spoken with a drop of anger, yet it sprung forth as an observation, tinged with curiosity. Tsunade's smirk spoke of vicious pleasure, forewarned Sakura of her shishō's nefarious motives.

"That's what you get for giving me lip yesterday."

Of course, petty revenge. Sakura made a mental note not to overestimate Tsunade's maturity levels when it came to such things in the future. Her lips pursed, indignation slathered on rosé-hued flesh.

"That was cruel and unnecessary, shishō."

Tsunade had the audacity to snort, but at least that smirk had waned.

"You must be the only woman in Konoha who'd see it that way." Caramel eyes gleamed with mock-accusation, though Sakura only acknowledged the mockery of it. "I give you not only one but _two_ fine Uchiha men to play with, and this is what I get?"

"Thank you, shishō. I thoroughly enjoyed that." Sakura's timbre was overwhelmingly caustic without her morning shot of caffeine, her smile a baleful quirk of thin lips. "Better?"

Not only did it not deter Tsunade, but it served to spur her on, nourishment for her amusement. That smirk etched itself on her mouth again, more wicked than before.

"Very few women have had those men in their bedroom at the _same_ time, if you know what I mean."

There was such thick innuendo woven in her sentence that made Sakura pause; she wondered if insomnia had affected her hearing as well – but it couldn't have. She gasped, sputtered, near choked on her own saliva – because she _did_ know what Tsunade meant.

"Shishō!" A flush of heat colored her pallid skin, breathed some life into her. Mortification contorted her features into a sharp grimace. "I really didn't need to know _that_."

"Oh please. It's a known fact." Tsunade's grin was devilish, her chuckle almost condescending, as if Sakura was an adult who couldn't yet fathom what it meant being one – and Tsunade was hell-bent on making her understand. "Just ask Anko."

Sakura didn't rise to the challenge, only gave her a scowl and a mutter. "And I _really_ don't want to know more."

A blonde brow rose loftily. "Really?"

"Can we please not discuss my _captain's_ sex life when I haven't even had my morning coffee yet?"

Sakura's tone could rival the Suna's desert in dryness, but so could Tsunade's.

"So it's alright to discuss it after that?"

It was too much. Sakura could no longer restrain her tongue from lashing out.

"What is it with you and that man? You've got a thing for him and trying to fulfill your twisted fantasies through _me_?"

"Nah." Tsunade shook her head, shrugged. "Not enough sugar to lick off of him. I like them sweet." Then her gaze scintillated with a sly glint. "But he's _your_ type, isn't he?"

It was too outrageous, so unexpected, that Sakura stared at her owlishly, blurted out the first thing that probed her mind. "What makes you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know."

Something told Sakura that Tsunade knew very well, and that soon so would she. Tsunade didn't disappoint on that account.

"Cold, handsome, genius…ring any bell?"

_Yes_. It rang an alarming bell, but Sakura drowned out its chime, silenced all thought its sound provoked.

"Sasuke-kun isn't like him," she finally said. And she was _right_. Even Tsunade couldn't dispute that fact, though how her brows creased foreboded that she was determined to try.

"Hm." Sakura disliked that _hm_ but not half as much as what followed. "That's 'cause he's still a _boy_. Give him a few more years to grow up, and you'll see."

Sakura parted her lips, but no speech dwelt in her vocal cords, no argument in her mind. A sigh resounded, feminine and vitriolic, full of disapproval. Shizune had, apparently, reached her limit on what was acceptable office conversation and length for a break time.

"If you two are done discussing the Uchiha's sexual prowess, can you do some work like the rest of us?"

"You're no fun, Shizune."

"I'm not here to be fun."

"You should get lai-"

"Tsunade-sama! Leave my sex life alone, drink some tea, and do your _work_."

"Not _tea_ again."

Shizune's interruption was most welcome. Sakura was stunned, still processing Tsunade's words. No matter how hard she tried, Sakura couldn't write them off as senile blather. If Sasuke was still a _boy_ who, according to Tsunade's insight, would someday grow to be a _man,_ then Sakura was still a _girl_ who had been given a taste of what he would become no more than a few hours ago.

The mere memory of _that_ scent, those lips, evoked heat, seeping into her nerves, igniting a slow burn, spreading through her body. Sakura might not have had experience with such things, but she couldn't mistake _arousal_ – last night she could even _smell_ the zesty scent of it, feel its slick heaviness on her skin. A whirlwind of sensations – close to want, much too close – patches of skin made malleable with lust and wetness. Awareness surged in her bloodstream with tidal waves, caused a feeling of vertigo, dizziness. It had been too intimate, roused sensations, twisted her mind towards notions she would rather never contemplate. It was enough, she had enough – _no_ _more_. Her lids lowered, lips thinned, jaw hard-set. Inhalation. Exhalation. Sakura didn't resume her rumination until the memory no longer burned, no longer spawned such reactions.

Mentality could be neither foresworn nor overcome. Her mind and her nature and her instincts were in discordance. She _knew_, she _felt_ – but she _wanted_. _Madness._ She shook her head, bewildered and weary, sought means to excuse herself. The implications of her situation, of her terrible lapse, sank into her mind – a rainstorm of denial and tumult. For a split moment, in one breath of shame, she had taken that step back, she had wanted that _man_. It didn't matter that he was Sasuke's brother or her captain or a cold bastard; Sakura had cared for none of those truths – only for the lie. That whoever that man was, he had wanted her, had made her want him. It was all _Kakashi's_ fault, for making her aware of the lure of a man, for awakening this _thing_, this sinful craving that a _woman_ held inside. But Sakura was still a _girl_; she didn't know how to control the _want_, hadn't been taught how to deny its call – or how to stroke it, tame it, conquer it.

It was becoming painfully clear how naïve she had been, how stubborn in her pursuit of things far too innocent, concepts that didn't exist in the world of adults. Sakura had wielded _love_ as a shield against ideas foreign to her, had never known the demand of _lust_ – to burn and ache at a touch of lips, a lick of tongue, a rasp of voice. Because Sasuke had _never_ acted in such a manner towards her. Sakura wasn't even sure if he knew _how_. Holding hands, kissing shyly, making love – she had envisioned all those things, sweet and warm and so purely…tasteless. They didn't flare sparks of heat, didn't sizzle and grow and rage in a pyre of sensation. Perhaps Tsunade was right, perhaps Sasuke was still a _boy_ – and Sakura now needed a _man_.

But even if she waited for Sasuke to grow into that man, would he want the girl that Sakura would _still_ be by then?

* * *

><p>It was <em>that<em> crow again. Sakura would recognize that crow even surrounded by a million of its kind. It was the _same_ crow that had ruined her life seven ways to hell. Fucking crow. She glared at it, tempted to squash it into her fists; it cocked its head, ruffled its feathers. That was _bad_. The ominous bird was starting to look kind of…cute – all puffed up feathers and glossy eyes and shiny beak. _Damn_. It had destroyed her life, and she was now petting it. A sigh made its way out of her lips. It wasn't the bird's fault, technically. She unstrapped the white cylinder from its leg, patted its head one last time, and it disappeared with a soft caw. That was how she now found herself in ANBU's briefing room again, staring at the bird's still ominous owner.

"New mission."

Itachi merely threw the scrolls at them without further elaboration this time. That _ten_ _minutes_ was left unsaid, but everyone heard it.

What Sakura read inside the scroll left her wide-eyed and more than a little wary. The Fire Daimyō's daughter had been abducted a few days earlier by a group that politically opposed him. Mika-hime would be returned under the condition that her father step down and appoint one of his advisors as the new ruler of the Land of Fire. If the Daimyō failed to comply with their demands and make the arrangements within a month, Mika-hime's life would be forfeit. The most worrisome factor was that the advisor selected to replace him had close relations with Himura Danzō. Their mission entailed attending a party hosted by that political group, obtaining information regarding Mika-hime's whereabouts, and rescuing her as well as bringing the abductors before the Daimyō's feet to be judged for their crimes. Sakura guessed their assassinations were implicitly included in the mission since no father would stand for his daughter's life being threatened like that.

There was one thing that perplexed Sakura, though. Sasuke was the one to vociferate it without preamble.

"This mission takes place in three days. Why are we given the details now?"

"Because I need you to be aware of its nature." Itachi's eyes assessed them slowly, one by one, in chilling calm. "It's a sex party."

Sakura blinked, lashes too heavy, too thick. _Did he just say –? _Naruto shuffled beside her, fingers fumbling with the short, spiky tufts of hair on the nape of his neck.

"You mean one of those…with, uh, naked people and… _stuff _going on?"

It wasn't only Sakura's head that snapped toward him with a too-fast motion; Sasuke was also staring at their teammate as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life, though his expression of shock and disbelief was far less expressive than Sakura's. Naruto laughed nervously, scratched the back of his head.

"Ero-sennin took me to one. For gathering intel and…_stuff_."

That _stuff_ sounded like a cocktail that promised a terrible hangover and waking up next to a naked stranger – one dose of embarrassment, three doses of satisfaction, and a tall glass full of ice cubes.

"Then you know the drill." Itachi was the only one pleased by its taste. "Good."

His gaze slid toward Sasuke, and if Sakura wasn't brain damaged after Naruto's revelation, she'd swear that his lips curled, if slightly.

"Sasuke. Do I need to explain the semantics?"

"No." Insulted, clipped, and exactly the reason Tsunade had called him a _boy_.

"Dismissed until then."

Itachi's words were a contradiction to his eyes; they lingered on Sakura's body, unworldly bonds, tracing curves and swells. Sakura could tell _she_ was far from dismissed – and she was proven right not a second later.

"Except –" His eyes ascended, bored into hers, made those bonds tangible. "Sakura."

"Why does she need to stay?"

_Naruto_. Standing before her, broad shoulders and hiding her in his shadow. Sakura didn't know why she noticed only now how much taller he had become than last she checked.

"Would you rather teach her then?" Itachi's voice reached behind Naruto's back, an echo of taunt and ice. "Fine by me."

"Kakashi can teach her."

_Sasuke_. Another tall back, another obstructing shadow.

"Kakashi-san isn't your team leader anymore. But if you miss him, I can arrange for you to be put under him again."

Itachi's words sliced through them like ice spikes, glided deep into flesh and bone, until they protruded from their backs, mere inches from Sakura's face. _I can demote you to genin at any given time. _Sakura saw it carved in those spikes, clear as crystal.

"It's, uh…it's not that bad, Sakura-chan." Naruto's chest wasn't as broad as his back; he wasn't as tall as he had appeared to be from the front. "We'll see you later?"

"Yeah…" Sakura forced a choked whisper through her clogged throat, smiled at her _boys_, until the door closed behind them with a strident _click_.

"The rules of this game are simple. You can't learn unless you _feel_ it."

_Ah_. If she could, Sakura would be rolling on the floor – laughing and crying and cursing. At herself. _Feel_. Last night made perfect sense now.

"Do you recall what I did yesterday?"

She nodded mutely, knew what came next before Itachi even gave it voice.

"That's what is needed for this mission. For women, you prey on the senses – touch, sight, hearing, taste, smell. What you need to arouse is the mind, awaken the fantasy. Men are easier to attract, respond to mere visual stimulation. You can have a man with nothing more than eye contact."

Sakura listened, committed every single word to memory, absent sound and motion. She lost sensation in her legs, felt as if she was sinking in quicksand. Inch by inch. It tried to devour her whole, to pull her into its sultry depths – and still she sank, deep, and deeper.

"Gender doesn't matter, only the target's sexual preference. You lure the target into a secluded area then extract the information needed. Genjutsu usually works for this part. Intercourse in the case of extremely skilled shinobi. But you're nowhere near that level and the targets are civilians this time."

His words cut through her like leaf-blades, sharpened into fine edges. Sakura took a step back, instinctive.

"Do you understand?"

Something churned inside her body, slithered and snaked like a living serpent, its scales hot and smooth, gliding against her viscera, flaying tissue and organs in its course. When she parted her lips, when she vociferated it, that serpent leapt out of her mouth, took her flesh and blood with it.

"Hai, taichō."

Breath in. A trickle of sweat. Breath out.

"Show me then."

No shock, no refusal, nothing but a stiff nod – and that step reversed.

"Ten minutes." Itachi lowered himself into one of the chairs, long legs crossed, arms resting against its metallic arms, the black of his shirt stretched over lean muscles. Sinuous. Insidious. Pale skin, accentuated lines, slanted eyes, he stared at her and waited.

"I give you permission for _whatever_ you need to do."

He shouldn't have intoned that _whatever_. It morphed _last_ _night_ into _now_, _girl _into _woman_, awakened memory and sensation – flesh against flesh, hot and hotter, firewater creasing in dips and angles. Urgency soaked through her, flowed and welled, lathering shivers on her skin, blood and palpitation. Igneous. Drumming. _Want_. Sakura wanted to feel him, _that_ scent, those lips, once more. And he had given her permission. _Mistake_. Step by step, closer and closer, she watched as he watched her – until her knees grazed against his, her palms curled around his shoulders, her thighs straddled his waist. No limits, no restraint, nothing but the flex of muscles as she leaned against him, settled on his lap, molded herself to his body. Breasts flattened against his collarbones, nipples grazing, up and down, and a moan, low, incited by the promise of _man_ in the juncture of her hips and thighs. She could feel so much of him now, litheness stretched under skin, beneath thin fabric, hard muscle and sinew.

Her breasts ached, felt heavy and swollen, nipples gliding against his torso, teased into hard peaks. Sakura arched against him, shameless undulations, unbridled, until no inch of him was left untouched, unlicked by that _want_ – and then _he_ _moved_.

Metal slithered across the line of her leg, grazed and raked along the inside of her thigh, sharp and cool, high – and higher. _Kunai_. Sakura stilled, respiration suspended, lungs seething under the stress. The sound of fabric ripping, being torn and discarded. Skin against skin. She shivered, cold became hot, the pads of his fingers found her, glided over that ball of soft tissue, circling and rubbing and scraping. Soft folds, soaking, drenching both of them as he teased her in all the right ways – but what he did was _not_ right, it was too decadent to be called merely that.

"I told you to make me hard."

Breath hot, lips even hotter, sliding against the side of her neck, branding skin and sensitized nerves. Slow intrusion, delving deep, stroking, slick as the flesh pulsing around his fingers, and voice low, near drowned under her gasp.

"Not make yourself wet."

_Fire_, his voice, the languor of his motions – they curled and twisted, surged and thrust, against silken tissue and _want_. Sakura arched, strained against him, nails digging into his shoulders, clutching at him in the middle of a shudder. A hiss that became a moan, muscles gripping, wetness spilling and coiling around his fingers, on the precipice of apotheosis. But release never came, denied on the verge of plunging over the edge – merely the taste of it, madness, slathered on his fingers as he withdrew them from the clasp of her body. Too slow, agonizing. Her lids rose when she felt him drawing back, viridian gone dark with lust, hazy with confusion and complaints, questions on the tip of her tongue. Sakura gazed into his eyes, coming down from that high, still aroused, still craving those fingers inside of her.

There was _something_ in his eyes, in the way they traced the curve of her lips as she panted for breath. Primal and raw – like the man himself. It was enough to wrench a moan from her throat, lust-ridden and wanton. Then she felt them, rough and slick, fingers slipping past the seam of her mouth, pressing against the flat of her tongue. Sultry and a little tangy, she sampled herself, sucked and took them deeper, and underneath that, the taste of his skin, that crisp scent mixed with smokiness. This, too, was denied her, over too soon, fingers being pulled back in the same tantalizing way – but then hands grasped her sides, low on her waist, dragged her down, knees bending and thighs stretching. A yelp of surprise fell from her lips, turned to another moan, drawn-out and laden with need when he ground against her. Wet, and growing wetter, dripping all over him, heat and oversaturation.

"You need to learn _this_." He was _close_, so close, that she could swallow his voice, that maddening rasp in it, distinguish the variations of black in his eyes, iris from pupil – and he was so hot and hard, stretched under rough fabric, that her hips moved on instinct, rubbed her core against him. But his eyes were umbrous, dark with denial, told her the truth. Sakura hadn't caused this; _he_ had made himself like this – to teach her the game, tell her how _she_ should do it.

"We'll try again tomorrow."

Sakura found herself alone, sprawled on that chair, that cleft between her thighs throbbing and seething for him, unsatisfied. Itachi was gone, nothing but his aftertaste – the sweat, the moans, the slickness and spasms inside.


	7. Chapter 7

It was burning in the junction of her thighs, sticky and uncomfortable and tender. Her apron skirt, shorts, and underwear were in tatters, strewn across the floor around the chair she was still curling herself into. She should get up, take a shower in the changing room, wear the ANBU uniform stashed in her locker, and _go_ _home_ – before anyone walked into the briefing room and found her in this state. _Gods…what was _that_?_ Such an intense state of arousal, the likes of which she had never felt before. There had been nights when she had worked herself up, broken out in sweat and shivers and spasms, taken care of herself in quiet moans and fast strokes – but it had never felt like _that_. Skin on skin, flesh inside flesh, that scent, his voice. _Ah_. It was so simple but so elusive for a _girl_ who hadn't tasted it before – how a _man_ felt. That _is what it was_.

* * *

><p>Sakura had barely closed the door of her apartment and taken off her shoes when <em>something<em> prickled at her senses. _Chakra_. _Shinobi_. Spine stiff, instincts roused, hyper-alert and chakra accumulating to her fists, she molded her back against the wall, but she needn't have gone to such trouble. Naruto appeared in her line of vision not a second later, nervous smile and apologies on his lips.

"Sorry, we didn't mean to just barge in, but you didn't come meet us…and we got worried."

Sakura guessed that _we_ included Sasuke. Her breath rose form her lungs, spilled into her hall with a deep exhalation, and she smiled at her teammate. It was her mistake, not recognizing their chakra signatures. Careless and stupid and so very _unlike_ her.

"Sorry, I was tired."

It was a flimsy excuse, too weak, but not a lie. She bypassed him and strode inside, exchanging a nod with Sasuke when she saw him lounging on her couch. Naruto followed her into the kitchen, blue eyes dimmed with unease.

"Are you alright, Sakura-chan?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." Casual tone, absent-minded. Bent over her open fridge, she surveyed its contents. "What do you want to drink? I have tea, coffee..." She rose with three bottles of beer, dangling them before him, indicating this was her preferred choice. A smile. A wink. "Beer?"

Naruto exhaled in relief, smiled for the first time.

"I'll take a couple of those."

A furtive glance into her living room, another nod from Sasuke, and she found herself sharing a large cushion with Naruto, Sasuke still stretched out on her couch, taking a long swig from her beer as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

It was…_surreal_.

In all their years as a team, this had never happened before; they met outside for food and drinks, but they just didn't do things like _this_, didn't hang out in each other's homes, though not for lack of trying on Naruto's part. Sakura simply refused to spend even one moment longer than necessary in the unhygienic, garbage-filled, and parasite-infested place that was Naruto's flat. As for Sasuke, dissociation was simply an additional gene in his DNA. All Uchiha possessed black eyes, black hair, and antisocial tendencies – with a few exceptions on the latter trait. She called those exceptions _black_ _sheep_ for mere irony's sake. In Sasuke's case, that gene gifted him with exiguous social skills, complete disregard for other's emotional state, and terrible opening lines in a conversation.

"What did he do, Sakura?"

She deliberated the most inconspicuous way in which she could phrase what _he_ _did_ without them asking for elaboration.

"He taught me the basics and gave me some homework."

Although, it mustn't have been as inconspicuous as Sakura assumed if Naruto choked on his beer, near spitting at her cheek.

"_Homework_?"

Her gaze narrowed at how he intoned that word – and then it hit her.

"Idiot!" She punched his shoulder. Hard. "Not _that_ kind."

Sakura shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around this new image of Naruto. A sexually aware Naruto made for a very strange creature in her perception. Eyes thinned, full of suspicion, she stared at him.

"Who are you and what have you done to the clueless guy I used to know?"

Rubbing his abused shoulder, he grimaced slightly, shrugged.

"Nothing. Just…_stuff_."

It was that word again. _Stuff_. Sakura shuddered, tempted to ask what it entailed, but Sasuke saved her from succumbing to that unsound urge.

"Women actually fall for a guy who calls it stuff?"

"What do _you_ call it then?"

"Sex."

It was too much. Laughter gurgled in her throat, burst out with a loud snort, and she doubled on the floor, clutching at her stomach, laughing herself to tears.

"Sakura-chan..." Naruto's concerned expression made her laugh even harder. "Are you okay?"

A whole minute must have passed until the last quakes of her laughter died out. Sakura collected herself, sat upright once more, wiped her wet lashes, and tried to explain.

"Yeah, it's just…we're all at my home and drinking beers and talking about sex and…it's surreal."

A smile bloomed on Naruto's face, slinked into his eyes, warm and convivial and reminiscent of the boy she used to know, the one who didn't allude _stuff_ to sex and _homework_ to masturbation.

"Seriously though, he didn't do anything to you, like –"

"Stuff?"

Sakura just had to say it once for the hell of it – then she was laughing again and Naruto was grinning and even Sasuke chuckled. It felt as if a barrier had been broken, unseen but impenetrable, keeping them apart all these years, preventing them from doing things like _this_. Perhaps she didn't need to be so inconspicuous now, perhaps she could share just a little bit.

"No." She sucked in a breath, laid it out there. "I did."

"You…_what_?" Naruto was the one to stare at her as if he didn't recognize her anymore, but there was no recrimination in his mien, merely incredulity. It emboldened Sakura, bolstered her to share a little bit more.

"Didn't work though…" She gave a light shrug, smirked at him, teasing. "Hence the _homework_."

Naruto might have mumbled something that sounded a lot like _it's not that funny_, but Sasuke spoke above him, drowned Naruto's words, made Sakura still with what he said.

"You probably wouldn't have turned him on even if you knew what you were doing."

"Sasuke! Teme-"

"I didn't mean it that way, idiot."

Sasuke, surprisingly, sounded sincere, and Sakura unfroze, dared gaze up into his eyes, searching for that hue of sincerity. It _was_ there. His chin dipped low, nonvocal acknowledgment, and she relaxed. Not being attracted to her was one thing but insinuating _no one_ would be was another matter. He carried on to fully disperse the misunderstanding, but Sakura would rather he hadn't when she heard the reasoning for his previous remark.

"Sakura's just not his type…and he has certain tastes."

"Temee…that's creepy. Why do you know what your _brother_ likes?"

"Our walls are made of wood and paper – and for all his kinks, he never binds their mouths."

"What kind of kinks?"

"Are you interested?"

"Now that's just sick."

"What does he like?" Sakura wasn't even aware that she had vocalized what was searing and roiling inside her mind until after it slipped past her lips. Shame slid across her tongue as her voice spilled forth, made huskier with remnants of slickness. Its raw accent, the sensuality of it, escaped Naruto.

"Sakura-chan…you don't have to go that far. I mean, most targets are lewd old men who'll probably drool over you without you having to lift a finger."

But _not_ Sasuke.

His eyes flashed with recognition – and Sakura could tell that he _knew_ more than the little bit she had earlier revealed. He stared at her as if he could hear her moans, feel the perspiration, the contraction of muscles, the scent of arousal meshed into the sound that had rolled off her tongue – lust-kissed, almost a gasp, a sound she had never made in his presence before.

"You don't want to go there."

Low, with traces of curiosity, and something else, darker, primal knowledge, his voice suggested more than his words. _Wrong_, so terribly wrong.

* * *

><p>One more sleepless night. Sakura wasn't merely drained; it went beyond that, reached unreachable heights of exhaustion. Last night couldn't even compare to the previous two, though. Her bed was not soft and warm; it was rough and hot. Thrashing and restless all night long, layers of sweat coating her skin, enmeshed in damp sheets, grazing and abrading sensitive flesh – that <em>ache<em> pulsed and throbbed and blazed. She had drifted in and out of consciousness, sleeping and waking with that _burn, _twisting and shivering and bending herself around a man's name. _Itachi_. It thrummed in the silence of her mind, stitched on the walls of her throat – until she had buried her fingers in that cleft between her thighs, deep inside the place he had touched and teased and tortured. But it was not _enough_, not the _same_. Her fingers were not _his_, not as long, not as strong, not as rough. Unsatisfied. Again.

Sakura cursed that wretched name, those deft fingers, the _man_ under the cold bastard. Why did it have to be Itachi? Why couldn't it have been Kakashi? Endless _whys_ and wetness, dissatisfaction and _want_. It was _her_ fault though, she was well aware. Sakura was too susceptible, too inexperienced, too…willing. If she hadn't suffered from that obsessive-compulsive disorder that was her fixation on Sasuke then she wouldn't be all those things now. Sakura would have probably dated enough people to explore all of her sexual fantasies – like Ino – or found a lover to be in a committed relationship with – like Tenten, though said lover _was_ her teammate – or at least _never_ enlisted in ANBU even if her crush did – like Hinata. But she just had to be stubborn and full of naivety and cling to the dreams of a little girl who never really overcame her puppy love – only to fall into _madness_ at her first taste of a real _man_.

Lust was not an emotion but a state of mind, fugacious yet intense. It began as a little thread, spinning and twining and writhing, until it wove itself into a web of diamond-hard silk. A Gordian knot. Sakura was not yet fully trapped, could wriggle and struggle, escape its invidious snare – because she had matured enough to be aware of the signs, the danger, and her weakness against it. Itachi had even given her the means of escape, sharpened kunai to sever the _yet_-soft strings, but Sakura simply didn't possess the perspicacity of how to use them. There was only one person in her life who did – and so Sakura asked her. Before it became too late.

"Shishō."

Tsunade's reply was nothing but a grunt, closer to a groan, full of misery and hints of alcohol saturating the sound. It was too early in the morning for Tsunade to even be in her office – which meant she had never really left, probably spent the night passed out in her armchair, face against the desk, cheek now smudged with fading ink from some scroll, and not in the mood for half-sentences and hesitation. Hence, Sakura took in a deep breath, and poured it all out in one sentence.

"How do you turn on a man?"

Tsunade didn't even stir, except for a small yawn.

"Get on your knees."

Blunt, laconic, and if Sakura had to guess, highly effective, but not what she had asked.

"Shishō." Small pause. Soft sigh. Sakura relocated her chair and herself beside Tsunade, earning her an arced, blonde brow. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

A note of amusement underlay the remark, a quirk in Tsunade's mouth. Sakura returned it with one of her own, one line of a wry smile.

"Fine. Let me rephrase that." Small pause again. Tsunade's brow arched higher; Sakura's smile turned to a chewing of lips. Soft sigh again. Then her eyes bored into tan-gold, flecked with curiosity. "What do I have to do _before_ I get on my knees?"

"Ah. You mean how to seduce a man?"

That single note of amusement in her master's voice had now grown to a whole musical piece. Sakura didn't have to nod – because it wasn't really a question – but she did, and Tsunade hummed, nose slightly wrinkling.

"Depends on the man, I guess." A half-smirk spread on the slope of her lips, one slant of wicked humor. "For the type _you_ like, start by showing some backbone."

Sakura didn't mirror it this time. "I meant in general, but your advice is duly noted." It was more sarcasm than voice, made Tsunade frown minutely.

"Is this about your mission?" At Sakura's curt nod, she sighed with a mite of aggravation. "Didn't Itachi teach you? I told him you had no experience."

Hiding the truth wouldn't benefit Sakura in the least, she knew yet couldn't help but squirm in her chair uncomfortably, worrying her lip again.

"He tried…"

It was a low murmur, told Tsunade all she needed to know. The Hokage sighed again, with a hint of weariness this time.

"How badly did you mess up?"

Sakura gazed at her master under curled lashes, abashed, self-blaming, and a bit flushed.

"All over his lap?"

Tsunade didn't sigh, didn't chuckle, didn't tease her, merely opened her drawer, grabbed a sake bottle and two cups, and cocked a thin brow.

"You want a drink?"

"Yes…please."

Before Sakura's lips could even touch the rim of her cup, Tsunade had already downed one –and _then_ she did all those things Sakura had expected before.

"So you climbed over him and rode him like a wild woman?"

It was pointless to even glare at her master; Sakura could only mimic Tsunade's swiftness in imbibing the drink, throwing her neck back, and relishing the burn as it glided down her throat to churn in the pit of her stomach. She coughed a little, sputtered more than spoke.

"When you are done laughing…can you please help me?"

A glint of intrigue shone in Tsunade's eyes, too cunning, warned Sakura of what was coming.

"Did he specifically tell you to do that?"

"No."

"Then why did you?"

Sakura grit her teeth, caved under Tsunade's extortion.

"All right. I admit it. I _wanted_ to feel him."

Her cup was slammed against the desk; Tsunade casually refilled it.

"Now we're getting somewhere." She smirked, shook her head. "Don't feel bad. He has that effect on most women – especially when he _tries_."

Sakura accepted the drink, scowled, a glare above her cup.

"_You_ told him to try."

"Aren't you glad I did?"

"I'm bursting with joy."

"I bet you did."

A pang of that _ache_ throbbed in the seam of her thighs at that. Head hung low, spunk wrenched out of her, Sakura mumbled under hot breath.

"Actually, I didn't." And she drank again.

"Heh. I see." Tsunade's smirk was too knowing – and a little pitiful. She sighed, poured them another drink. "What do you _really_ want to know? How to seduce a man or how to make Itachi give you what he didn't?"

Somehow, Sakura had trouble finding the difference between the two. Itachi _was_ a man. Didn't one naturally lead to the other? Not that she wanted to take that road after what Sasuke had implied… Another drink. Brows knit into a frown, she stared at her master quizzically.

"Isn't it the same thing?"

Tsunade's expression was purely pitiful now, if a bit disappointed.

"No. I told you that it depends on the man. Run-of-the-mill tactics won't work on him."

_Figures._ Shoulders hunched, Sakura slumped back into her chair, feeling warm and dizzy from the quick consumption of such strong alcohol. She should have regulated how much she actually allowed to be absorbed into her system. Tsunade never chose something with less than thirty percent in volume.

"I just want him to give me a passing mark, so I never have to even _think_ about going there with him again."

A snort echoed, short and chastising. "Then you should have listened more carefully to his lesson. You usually climb on a man _after_ you've got him hooked. That's what he wanted you to do."

Sakura felt like tearing her hair out from its very roots. Everyone kept telling her that, but didn't bother explaining the finer details of the technique required for such a feat.

"But _how_?"

"Action and reaction." Tsunade all but shrugged, the motion telling in many ways – her master was rather let down that Sakura hadn't guessed what she was about to tell her by herself. "You let a man know you want him, and he will want you back, for casual things at least. Getting a man to have sex with you is the easiest thing in the world. Keeping him is the hard part."

It made sense when simply put like that.

"So I just…?" Sakura had an inkling but waited for the verbal validation.

Aid came to her in cherry lips, with slanted smirk, all crimson and _woman_.

"Give him a sultry stare, touch him as you speak, show some skin, lick your lips, cross your legs, whisper in his ear – small things like those will get a man interested. Let your body and eyes tell him that you _want_ him."

Husky, a slight tease, Tsunade's laughter titillated Sakura's ears, spoke of a woman's climax, of spent passion.

"Then get on your knees, on his lap, up against the wall, down on the floor, or whatever surface is available."

Sakura should have known something along those lines would come from her lips, for it had been _that_ kind of laughter, yet what rankled wasn't the envy of never having felt it but _something_ else. She spat it at her master with a glare, eyes the shade of a pale-green tundra.

"Couldn't _you_ have taught me that? Or even Kakashi?"

"Don't glare at me, girl. I did you a favor." There was no heat in Tsunade's tone, not the pleasure from before, not even the anger Sakura had anticipated – the _Hokage_ was speaking, not her master.

"I can't make you _feel_ lust – or more accurately, I _can,_ but it would confuse you too much if it came from me for many and obvious reasons. Kakashi would have been too soft with you, like screwing you out of some twisted sense of responsibility if you acted like this with him. Itachi _is_ the best tutor you could have had for this kind of thing."

Numb, almost resigned, Sakura chose the easy way out, Tsunade's unhealthy solution for dealing with all and any issue – she downed another drink. And the Hokage reverted into her _master._

"And the best sex, if you manage that."

* * *

><p>Itachi divested his mask and flak jacket once he entered the briefing room, spared a glance toward the girl already there before he took a seat, wasting no time with trivialities.<p>

"Show me again."

She sat across from him, legs overlaying one another, all muscles and thighs, hair smoothing down her back, the color of dragon fruits. It was the kind of body that spoke of limber limbs, slick sweat, passing passion. Only a blind man would not see the lust of her skin, only a deaf man would not hear the purr of her lure – perhaps not even they would miss them. A _kunoichi_.

Itachi observed her silently, too closely – not the _girl_ from before, though not yet a _woman_, but confident in her allure, in the appeal of her shape. A slice of red lips, a slant of green eyes, provocation under thick lashes, invitation between crossed thighs. A normal man would be fantasizing how she would feel by now, moving above him, spasms and perspiration, tangled sheets and fire. _Good_. She was displaying progress that would have exceeded his expectations had she not been echoing the Godaime with every flick and motion – Tsunade had taught her this. For some reason, it amused him, drew his eyes to her chest, the slope of her breasts. Itachi half-expected to see the known fullness, threatening to spill over, but this was Sakura, not Tsunade.

A flutter of lashes, a biting of lips, and she turned her attention towards him. The way she shifted in her seat, slowly, bending her waist, revealing a hint of cleavage, told him she wouldn't make this easy, but she was willing – so _very_ willing. Itachi had played this game on missions many times before to know what she offered. It implied there would be no attachment, no morning coffee, no excuses or demands. Sultriness on the redness of her lips, temptation on the tilt of her smirk. She rested her chin against a hand, a fingertip slipping between white teeth. The neckline of her shirt slinked lower but not low enough. A swell of breasts, smooth and luscious, skin bared on well-orchestrated movements, and she smiled at him. Flagrant. An _old-time_ tease. Tsunade had taught her well – but _something_ was missing. Intrinsic. Raw. Her wiles and lures not only wouldn't attract a _shinobi_ but they would give her away in an instant. Sakura was not _feeling_ it.

Itachi gave her a slight nod, beckoned her over.

"Come here."

Merely the sound of his voice made her eyes darken, need-filled, no longer playful. Now _this_ – he had taught her this. _Now_ she was feeling it. Almost a shame. Itachi would have given her a passing mark, for civilians at least, if she hadn't made her flaw glaringly evident. These reactions – the heat of her eyes, the moisture of her lips, skin flushed and breasts lush – they were all because of him, because _he_ was her target.

Sakura did as he bade, and more than that – smile enameled on red lips, with feline grace, she rose from her seat, approached him, her steps a nosh of sauciness. Slow. Provocative. This game might have ended for Itachi but not for Sakura, not until he told her so. A hint of nude skin, curves outlined, softness and round hips – all that was required for the game, things Sakura possessed in abundance but couldn't fully utilize. Fingers brushing across the line of his shoulders, feather-soft strokes, she leaned close behind him, breath fanning along his cheekbone, lips warm and parted and dragging on his skin. His neck tilted back, followed the motion for a gliding of lips, a mingling of breaths – he spoke low, voice spilling into her mouth, sliver of a reward.

"Better."

Her breath caught, fingers coiling, nails grazing against his shoulder blade, and Itachi slipped an arm around her, a cuff of muscle circling her waist, pulled her down on him, on her side. He made her wrap an arm around his neck, her left side molded to his torso, her ear mere inches from his lips, and spoke again, voice lowering an octave.

"You _want_ me to fuck you – and you showed it."

A shiver. A gasp. He could feel the flutter of her pulse, soft undulations, chest rising and falling, each word imbibed, taken within.

"Most civilians will take you up on that offer if you approach them like that with some innuendo."

Her arm tightened, brought him even closer, hips swaying against him, but she remained quiet, as if afraid that he would cease when she uttered a word. Itachi awarded her for that – a chuckle, rasp-ridden, in the way he knew she liked it, caressing her ear. His hand slid under her shirt, moving high on her ribs, and higher, fingers splaying around her breast, gripping lightly, flicking a turgid nipple – because Sakura had guessed right.

"The problem is –" Tongue laving, one sinuous lick, smearing wetness on skin too responsive, over-sensitized. "You want _me_ to fuck you."

Words spoken through touch, through taste. She made a sound unlike all others – a hiss of a moan, ground against his pelvis.

"But you have to make that expression at _anyone_ sitting in this chair – and you still can't. Practicing with me more will not get you past that. On the contrary, it might make things more complicated."

Teeth dragged over the curve of her ear, one last reward – then he released her, forced her to slide off of him, stand as he did so, and she near whimpered with the motion, at the separation. Green eyes stared up at him, a nimbus of lust in their depths – she licked her lips, murmured hazily.

"I think…I can."

It was almost too facile to glimpse into her mind, prey on her thoughts. Itachi heard the name swirling there, quiet and wanton, as if she had hurled it at him in an illicit whisper.

"Kakashi-san doesn't count."

Shock dispersed that thickness in her gaze, that dark hue of want replaced with questions – _why_, _how_, _when_. Itachi would have chuckled again if he didn't need her to heed his words, and not be aroused by the sound. Sakura was too damn receptive but, then again, girls who had never known pleasure usually were.

"I can't actually read thoughts without the Sharingan, but I don't need it in your case. Another thing you must fix. As for the question on your mind, Kakashi-san wouldn't send you into ANBU territory where seduction is a requirement without giving you a hint or some help. He knows this kind of missions like the back of his hand. What did he do?"

She shuffled with discomfort, avoided his eyes. Itachi already knew the answer, but it was she who had to say it, make it real, acknowledge it – and Sakura did. A small frown, a moment's hesitation, but she was speaking, eschewal thawed and low tones.

"He did the same thing as you."

Of course he did. Itachi would be surprised if he hadn't. Kakashi had been too soft a teacher with these babies, had sheltered them too much – he _still_ did – which made Itachi's task all the more challenging. But this approach was reaching its limits of effectiveness. If he wasn't careful, Itachi would end up with an obsessed _girl_ instead of an ANBU kunoichi. There was really only one alternative.

"You know the Nara clan?"

She gazed up at him, half-confused, half-curious, then nodded.

"Yes."

"They're natural-born leaders but stay in the shadows. A Nara shinobi is usually a genius, can see seduction from a mile away, and will never react unless it's flawlessly executed. Meaning, he will still see it for what it is, no matter how high the level of technique, but won't be able to help himself – a perfect target for your training. No excuses, no explanations needed; he will know with one look. Find yourself one, practice on him, and show me what you learned tomorrow."

A succession of emotions flashed in her eyes – skepticism, turning to dismay, settling in acceptance. Bitter. Unpalatable. Still, she nodded again.

"Hai, taichō."

Then she inhaled slowly; her gaze traced the contours of his face, his body, malachite liquefied, glazed with all the things he had done – and Itachi knew that all the places he had touched, licked, and bit into, now _burned_. Really, this _girl_. Hadn't he warned her against revealing thoughts so easily but moments ago? He had her pressed up against the wall before she could even exhale that slow breath, thighs clutched around his waist, breasts swelling and trapped between them, nails sinking into his arms, moisture and throbbing heat. She was drenched again, dripping wet – he could feel the hot mess against his abdomen, damp fabric and pulsing core, soaking his own clothes as he held her there.

"You are transparent."

_Foolish_ girl. For a moment, she had even stopped breathing. _No_ _choice_. If she was that far gone then there was only one thing he could do – grant her the motivation she _wanted_. He gave her thighs a hard squeeze, elicited something husky and needy, a whimper and a shiver, made her hearken to him.

"Kakashi-san would probably do a pity fuck in this case – but _I_ won't. If you want me to fuck you then make me."

A tremor rippled through her body, throaty vibration, slipping from her lips as a moan, deep and writhing with words she couldn't speak – _more_ and _please_ and maybe his name – though he heard them regardless – in the way she arched against him, nipples swollen and hard, muscles tight and contracting, slathering more of herself on him, seeping into his clothes all the way to his skin. Itachi lowered her to the floor, painstakingly slow descent, stared down into her eyes, dragging her over his body, his eyes cold and unforgiving.

"But I don't work with people I've fucked, so choose carefully. Do you want to learn from me or do you want to fuck me?"

He didn't wait for an answer.


	8. Chapter 8

Sakura couldn't tell what hour it was, what minute, what second. There was the night, the _want_, the _burn_ – and the chains. Unseen bonds within the morass of her mind, tightening with each thrust and moan, shredding the fleshly walls of her morality. It was those _eyes_ of his – eyes born of the dark, of this heat. But Itachi had offered her a choice which was not a choice. No matter how Sakura struggled to convince herself that lust was the drink of the wicked, she couldn't not partake in it. Perhaps she deserved to be in this hell, shackled for her foolishness. Whatever the case may be, there was only one truth. Selling herself to the devil did not leave such a bad taste in her mouth. Denial was a calamitous sentiment, something that tautened the tethers. Sakura had no use of such a thing. Despite being cognizant of this, and in spite of _want_, she still had to slay temptation, forego all notions of giving in. For _now_.

It wasn't simply a matter of choice but necessity. Something had happened yesterday, something that hadn't happened for six years. _Change_. Slowly, with wobbly, infant steps, things were starting to change, barriers were crumbling down, emotions were resonating within her team. If she lapped at that insidious drink, if she allowed herself to see it as a choice, all this would end before it could even begin. All things must come to an end, Sakura knew, yet she didn't wish for _this_ to end, didn't want to be parted from her boys now that she had finally found them. Selfish, wretched desire – but that was _love_. Its ache could never measure to the one spawned by mere lust. And Sakura was truly a _foolish_ _girl_ – a girl who would always choose her boys over herself, even when choosing herself augured damnation.

There was only one path laid before her, only one poison to sample – but it was not meant for little girls. Her feet would split and bleed, body envenomed, dying from the inside out, if she took that path, sipped that poison, as she was. _No_ _choice_. Sakura would soothe the _ache_, satiate the _burn_ – she would learn how to be a _woman_, how to be _ANBU_. And _then_ how to tame the dark, to stroke this heat – but she would do so with conscious volition. No compulsion. No restraint.

Love had condemned her to this hell. For her boys, she would sink deep within it, and deeper, until she breathed it in. For herself, the least she could do was sit beside the devil and leash him to her lust.

* * *

><p>Sakura woke in a tangle of sluggish limbs, her mind swathed by numbness, heaviness. It took no more than a fragment of a second for cognition to strike, memory to awaken beside disorientation. <em>Home. Bed. <em>No one but her was in the room, no –

"_Itachi_." Sakura spoke the name aloud, how she had wanted to say it last night, licked her lips on impulse. The mere utterance evoked a spasm, intrinsic, involuntary. A hitch of breath, ripples of liquid heat, surging under tight skin, from her nipples down to her abdomen, low – and lower still, inside wet, pulsing flesh. Sakura muttered a curse, removed herself from the bed, matted sheets and the taste of lust. _Crazy…I'm going mad! _To say that the man was attractive was too tame a word. Forbidden fruit, temptation. _Too much_. And last night… He had shown her things, had said and done things to her, things that had made her scream his name, twist and bend and thrash, above and beneath and inside, in a flash of sultry, blood-red irises – nothing but a dream against a wall. Sakura had _wanted_ all those things. _Despite_ how wrong it was. _Because _of it. _Why_ did it have to be Itachi she wanted? But she _did_.

The morning sun was a glare filtering through her bathroom window, accentuating each flaw and imperfection on her nude body. Mirrors never lied. Sakura was nothing but a distortion of hair and limbs and skin on misted glass. Her gaze lowered to her chest, trailed down to her hips, then rose to her face. If she had to be objective, Sakura was not lacking in assets – if a man liked exotic coloring, lissome physique, and no more than a handful of breasts. Her problem lay with the slices of black under her eyes, the paleness of her skin, and the sharp angles of her bones. Insomnia never complimented. A soft sigh writhed across her tongue. What a perfect day to seduce a Nara shinobi…

Of all the things Itachi could have demanded of her, this task was the last Sakura would have ever expected. _His_ scent, his voice, his touch – she craved those things, could never be sated of them, would one day make them _hers_. All the wrongness, the decadent sensations, raw and throbbing and full of _man_. She would have _that_ man – even if she had to make herself into a _woman_ to have him. Sakura had severed the final strand of eschewal, of childish demur, and once that strand was severed, it could never be sewn again. Surely not now, maybe not for a long time, but there would come a day when she'd make him say and do all those things to her, when she'd make _him want her_.

She banished all such musings at present though, exhaled, long and slow. Sakura knew only one Nara shinobi, but Ino would kill her if she tried to seduce him – and if she didn't, Temari would cut her up into tiny pieces and mount them on wooden poles all the way from Suna to Konoha. Really though, what choice did she have?

_None_.

* * *

><p>It wasn't difficult to locate Shikamaru. Sakura merely needed to search for a rooftop with a nice view of the sky and spirals of pale smoke. If she didn't know any better, she'd think him boring, or easy to manipulate, but Shikamaru was merely a man who knew what he wanted. It was rather ironic that the least ambitious amongst the shinobi of her age was entrusted with information even Sakura didn't have access to, was involved in village matters deeper than most people were aware. Sakura knew because she had seen it, but not many were privy to that knowledge. Itachi <em>was<em> right. Nara Shikamaru was a natural-born leader, shadow of brilliance, intelligent beyond ways Sakura could even begin to fathom, and just as lazy. Such men were dangerous, if a bit loathsome – but very much attractive.

Temari was, indeed, a very lucky woman – and Sakura…very unlucky.

It was unavoidable, though. Sakura took in a breath of crisp air, allowed herself to see him as that _man_ in her perception, feel the draw of baser instincts, what made a woman lust for a man. Itachi had claimed that she lacked feeling behind action, and Sakura had understood. It was a double-edged blade – to lure someone _she_ needed to be lured.

He was lying on his back, arms crossed under his head, knees bent, and smoke rising. Languish. Self-sufficient. Sakura was certain he'd felt her long before she sat beside him on the cool tiles, but she knew Shikamaru would never acknowledge another's presence first. It was so very like him to feign ignorance, to avoid complications, until he was forced to do otherwise. Intelligence and inertia were sides of the same coin when it came to Shikamaru.

Sakura chuckled, bit her lip.

"Hey, Shikamaru."

"Hey."

It was nothing but a greeting, absent emotion, the merest parting of lips. She followed his gaze, stared up into sky-blue and cloud-white, far-reaching, moving yet unmoving.

"Cloud gazing again?"

"Helps pass the time."

Something stirred beneath the calm, languorous but curious, one glance of dark eyes.

Sakura smiled at him then closed her eyes, stretched slowly, deliberate motions – one slant of neck and spine, one thrust of breasts and shoulders, one sound of breath and moan. Then she lay down, chuckled again. It was soft and husky and coursed through her body, gathered attention to what she wanted him to notice.

"The sky's nice, but the earth is more beautiful to me."

Shikamaru stayed quiet but there was awareness in his silence not there before.

"I love taking a walk into the forest after the rain. The ground is soft under my toes and the trees feel alive."

Her voice grew lower, deeper, consonants whispery and vowels dragging. Thick lashes rose, and she sought his eyes.

"Their leaves are greener, their bark smoother, with drops of dew and slick voices. It's a strange place, like a dwelling of old souls, brimming with life."

There was more than awareness now, more than curiosity, silence thicker, eyes darker. Sakura turned on her side, resting on an elbow, fingers weaving in her hair, breasts pressed and swelling under her shirt, thighs slightly parted.

"I can _feel_ it."

He neither disguised nor suppressed reaction, eyes trailing over swells and dips, giving her what she provoked, perhaps even blatantly, daringly, as if to test her limits, how far she was willing to go. Her smile changed qualities – visceral smirk, implications and snare on red lips.

"You should _try_ it some time."

Sakura watched as he rose to a sitting position, crushed a cigarette long since burned out, and lit a new one. He then fell back on his elbows, took a slow drag. His neck tilted, cords strained with the motion, eyes black and knowing, moving low on her body – and lower.

"If I go into that forest –" A thin line of smoke overlapped his gaze, slipped between the seam of her thighs. "Temari will castrate me."

It sounded as if he had considered going there at some point – perhaps he _had_ – and that was all she could really ask for. Sakura gave a short laugh, settled on her back; she surrendered all pretense under that reasoning. This was as far as she could go.

"When did you realize?"

His mouth quirked into something wry, thinly amused.

"Somewhere between wet and tight."

Perhaps she had laid it on a little thick. She sighed, almost defeated.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

_Why I did that._ The sentence completed itself in her mind, but there was no need to give it full voice, not with him at least.

"Nope."

A grimace shadowed his features, and Sakura could tell he knew more than she'd reveal even if he asked for her reasons – but he didn't.

"I'm not going to like the answer."

There was only one thing left for her to say. Teeth sank into her bottom lip, hoarse nuances of voice, not methodic guile but natural display of guilt.

"I'm…sorry."

Shikamaru fixed her with a stare she couldn't quite decipher – maybe pity, maybe anger, or even a mixture of both – then assumed his usual expression, grey steeped in traces of ennui.

"Nah, I get it." A small chuckle meshed into the smoke when she arched a slim brow. "Naruto has a big mouth. The rest is easy to guess."

Sakura could only smile, though it was more grudge than smile. He made everything seem so easy to infer that he defied the very laws of comprehension. Something slinked into his eyes then, sharper, more intense than she was used to.

"Does it have to be me?"

It was more observation than question when it came from him, gave her pause, made her brows crease_. No…not really_. Intrigued, green light with hope, Sakura peered at him under her lashes.

"Is there anyone smarter than you in your clan?"

"Yeah."

Too quick, too sure, and somewhat disgruntled. If she had to hazard a guess, Shikamaru wasn't keen on sharing that person's identity – it all made sense with his next words.

"But he might be more than tempted…" His lips peeled back for a fraction of a grin. "And then mom would castrate him."

Her mouth formed a silent _o_ then laughter burst out of her throat. When she looked at him again, Sakura couldn't help but notice the attraction of the man, especially with that lick of grin hovering on his lips.

"Were you tempted?"

It sprung forth before she could halt it, near breathless. Sakura more than wanted to know the answer, and he must have realized it. The way that string of grin unraveled, bereft of humor, how grey hardened into granite, edgy with tension, were telling signs.

"I could be." His voice was smokier, heavier, made her even breathless. "If you'd talked more."

"I thought it'd turn you off."

Sakura cleared her throat, tried really hard not to substitute that _off_ with _on_, but she was losing the mental battle the more he indulged her.

"Ino says you can't stand her when she takes your ears off."

"That's different."

What was different was his tone of voice and all it insinuated. Nothing compared to what he didn't insinuate, though.

"I don't want to feel her tongue on parts Temari will cut off if I'm tempted."

A flare of heat sizzled beneath flushed skin. _Tempted_ was starting to go both ways – and this was dangerous. Temari would dismember Sakura and her promiscuous tongue. Still, she couldn't dismiss it as mere word play.

"But you'd want to feel mine."

It was beyond bold, firmly stated. Sakura grasped the fine-spun core of seduction right then and there. Being assertive passed her the power, the reins of this game. Itachi _was_ right. She could learn by practicing on Shikamaru – because he was _man_ but taken, merely words, never action. Sakura licked her lips, stared into his eyes, ravenous for more.

"So…can I try again?"

His gaze touched the curve of her lips, pursued the strokes of her tongue, and he laughed.

"You're already trying."

_Ah_. That laughter – she understood now why he wore boredom for a face and isolated himself in high places. Men who made such sounds shouldn't walk freely into the streets. Sakura laughed with him, grinned, feral, dipped in voracity, and his laugh died in a sigh.

"Troublesome…but yeah."

"Thanks, Shikamaru."

"Don't mention it." That grin laved his lips again, stretched across his cheek, made her want to trace it with her tongue. She must have been as transparent as last night – because he had to remind her this was nothing but a practice game.

"To Temari."

* * *

><p>The Uchiha district was unfamiliar territory for Sakura, despite Sasuke being her teammate for half a dozen years. <em>Terra<em> _incognita_. There was simply no reason for her to step foot into their compound, not to mention it would have probably irritated Sasuke. Starry-eyed girls were disliked enough without the addition of stalker-like tendencies – and Sakura had been balancing herself on a tightrope in the past. It was strange but not unwelcome, even vaguely liberating – not to feel that singled-minded drive, that deep pull twisting her mind toward ideas that were never meant to be. But Tsunade had given her a reason to tread into uncharted areas, venture into the lair of forsaken dreams and newborn wants.

Under citrine hues and cinnamon warmth, the sunglow glided along the slope of her back, guided her steps farther inside. Sakura perused the crowd of people littering the streets all around her. Many eyes on her, many whispers and veiled scrutiny. A susurration of mistrust, an explosion of curiosity, followed her strides, many voices, old and young, male and female, all in fluctuations of black. It was to be expected, actually. Sakura stood out like a sore thumb with her bright colors, and not many outsiders came into their haven. Some of them she knew, shinobi she had glimpsed in passing, but most were foreign to her. A mass of high-collared outfits with their clan's symbol emblazoned on the back, wooden structures and street vendors, even a river running through their compound. If not for the chariness assaulting her from all sides, Sakura would have deemed it quite a lively place, pleasantly traditional.

When the gates of the estate Sasuke called home appeared in her line of vision, Sakura released her breath, sibilant and soft-sighed. Being the center of attention was not something to be envied as her juvenile mind had reckoned in years past, she realized. Sasuke's less than sociable attitude could perhaps be excused to some extent if this was how he had been treated during his academy years. Adoration may not be a synonym to apprehension but both elicited stares and murmurs Sakura could have gone without.

She shook her head then, straightened her spine; her knuckles tapped on the timbered gates, once, twice. Sasuke wasn't home at this hour, she knew, but besides that, any member of his family could have answered without it being peculiar, like his mother, or his father, or his –

"It's too early for your lesson."

The doors had remained tightly shut; that voice had fallen from above; Itachi was more umbra than shape overhead. Sakura craned her neck back, a rather painful angle, stared up at that shroud of man and voice. The impulse to utter his _name_ was inexorably strong, innate and laden with precipitance. She swallowed the sound deep in her throat but not its huskiness, the need in it. There was only so much she could control.

"Taichō."

A small bow of her head, tongue and teeth sweeping along the corner of her lip, poise gone rigid.

"I didn't come for you."

Silence slathered the shadow, constriction of nerves, tensile – then he was gone and one side of the gates was being parted inwards. Sakura took one slow step past the Uchiha's threshold, and another, then the door closed behind her with a heavy _click_.

"Can you even tell where he is?"

Itachi might not have named the person Sakura came here to see, but his tone betrayed he more than knew who it was, even taunted her with the knowledge. Her mouth pursed, indignation licking chewed flesh, but she realized he made a fine point. _Where_ was –

A kunai whizzed past her cheekbone, skin unsliced but pale strands floating mid-air. Sakura froze, merely traced its course with her eyes. It cut through the yard, lavished with tall trees and rock-made pathways, but she never heard it make impact.

"You know –" Shisui's voice emerged before his body, thickly amused, that kunai being twirled around his index finger. "If you keep playing with sharp objects, you might hurt yourself one of these days."

Itachi wasn't even there to deign the gibe though, had all but vanished into thin air.

"Sakura-chan!"

An arm wrapped itself around her shoulders, as if it belonged there, drew her against muscle and the scent of pine resin. Shisui was warm and grinning and too generous in his affections, so much that it melted her shock before Sakura could even feel its full weight.

"I knew you couldn't stay away."

A bark of laughter escaped her lips, and she pushed him away, glared at him but there was no fire in her eyes, merely light reprimand.

"You missed the appointment for your check-up, Shisui-san."

He didn't appear the least bit remorseful; in fact, his grin spread more if that was even possible. That sneaky appendage encircled her waist as he led her inside, not that she made any move to fight him.

"So you came to run your hands all over me. How can I refuse?"

His eyes gleamed with something teasing yet potent – Sakura couldn't tell if he was joking or not. Hence she opted for sarcasm and a twitch of lips.

"I wonder."

It seemed to please him, more than she expected, and that gleam eclipsed, reminiscent of another pair of dark eyes, growing darker the more her tongue unwound, gorging on lust and _man_. Sakura knew then what the potency of his gaze implied – Shisui was playing the game with her, the one she'd played with Shikamaru earlier today.

"Ah. There it is, that _sassy_ thing."

The way he intoned that word, how his grin transformed into smirk, insinuated he very much wanted her to be sassy with him – and more than that. Sakura slipped out of his hold once they entered a room stripped down to bare necessities, but the scent saturating everything inside revealed it wasn't merely a guest room, that it was reserved for his use when he stayed here. She peered at him under black lashes, drawn-out and aware, green flecked with silver. _Perhaps…but_ _later_.

"Can you take off your shirt?"

Shisui chuckled but obliged her without innuendo this time. Maybe it was the promise in her eyes, that glint of _woman_ in the girl – Sakura was certain he had sensed that _later_, had chosen to wait for it. She performed the standard procedure with clinical professionalism, nodded with approval once she was done.

"All good."

Sakura knew what was coming, could see it in that gleam of his gaze, more potent than teasing now.

"You sure you don't need to check more thoroughly?"

"You'd like that too much." Half-smirk and intrigue, her eyes trailed over his naked torso, lower and lower, dipped below his pubic bone. She licked her upper lip, desire scintillated in her gaze, and Shisui grinned. Such a tease. "Should I?"

"You probably shouldn't."

Shisui took in the changes, with every word she uttered, with every flutter of her lashes. Little by little.

"But I wouldn't stop you." Rough and quiet was his tone, yet much like the calm before the storm. Sakura could feel it – waves of tension, like a river under strung skin, veins highlighted and pulse strong at the hollow of his neck.

"Let's see then…" Her smirk slashed across her face. She walked around him, slow steps, dragging caresses of hands and fingers.

"You're in perfect physical shape."

Her voice was not soft now, yet it was everything a woman should be. Bold, sensuous, it glissaded over him, made his skin feel hotter, harder under her palms. It was a natural response, and she chuckled, baited him with the husky sound. Close, and closer she came, proximity and heat. Round and round and round, she circled him, with feather-like touches – on the muscles of his arms, his back, his chest.

"Mm. Yes…" Fingertips smoothed across lean muscle, blunt nails grazed over his stomach.

"Especially those abdominal muscles."

Sakura stopped to stand behind him, breasts pressed against the expanse of his back, arms coiling around him. Her hands glided lower, nails raking the juts of his hipbones, and she laughed, lips and breath sultry against his skin.

"They feel even better than they look."

"You're good." No matter the casualness of his remark, the vibrations racking his frame, and despite that his voice didn't falter under his laughter, Sakura could still see that river, could tell it had not yet subsided. Her laughter dwindled, more of a chuckle now, still self-gratified.

"Will he give me a passing mark?"

There was no need to feign innocence or conceal intent – the fact that Shisui was laughing meant that he had caught on to her motives, had inferred the rules of this game. It was nothing but a test, to see how far she could take it with an available man.

"I would." His voice was now coated with a hint of that laughter. "If you moved that left hand a bit lower."

Sakura reevaluated her tactics. If this was how he wanted to play then she might as well indulge him. Being careful earned her nothing – no satisfaction, no dominion – but perhaps there was something to be gained by other, canny means. An ocular feast at the very least, for he was very easy on the eyes, _did_ feel even better – she had not lied about that – and pleasure went both ways. Her body detached itself from his back, languid, deliberate motions; she came to stand before him, then lowered herself to her knees.

"Just my hand?"

She watched with satisfaction as he swallowed back that laughter, as it throbbed inside his body, from his throat down to his abdomen. Eyes heavy-lidded, she regarded him with intrigue, gaze lowering to his navel, trailing down a soft tuft of black – unabashed, blatant daring.

"Now he _might_."

Shisui's tone was rougher, heavy with fresh-rooted lust, when he finally spoke. Muscles contracted, in his arms, chest, abdomen, and lower, glistened with a fine sheen of sweat and vigor.

"And _now_ would be a good time to either do that or get up."

She was tempted, more than she thought she would be, and once again…transparent.

"You're actually thinking about it."

It was more laughter than roughness, more amusement than lust. Shisui had bent down to her level before she could even process the change in his mood – he was grinning and…ruffling her hair.

"Now that's just cute."

Sakura slapped his hand away, made a sound, part-sigh, part-huff. The moment had passed; the game had ended. She rose as he did, chewed on her lip, and asked what he had surely known she would.

"And if I decide I want to do it?"

Lips slid across her cheekbone, warm and firm, quick kiss and chuckle.

"You know where to find me."

* * *

><p>Itachi had waited for the girl to leave before he accosted his cousin. Letting her become entangled with Shisui was neither good practice for her nor wise decision for him.<p>

"No," was all he said.

Shisui's brow rose at that, curious, if a bit challenging. Itachi usually didn't have to say more in such cases – but that small action foreboded he would have to this time.

"My dear cousin." Cynicism smeared on grin. "I love you, I really do."

Whenever Shisui began with this line, it meant that Itachi would have to resort to playing with sharp objects as his cousin had so mockingly put it before – and he was right.

"But you don't get to tell me who I'll fuck and who I won't."

Itachi went over his options once more. _Reason_. He would try reason one last time, though he didn't expect much.

"You get emotionally attached when I leave you on your own."

"Why don't you join us then?" More cynicism. More grin. "Something tells me she won't mind."

At least Shisui hadn't denied the flaw in his character, for all good that did.

"No."

Shisui's grin broke down into a sigh. "Are we really going to do this?"

Itachi would have copied his cousin if not for the kunai thrown at the same time as Shisui's sigh.

"If you know what's best for you, we won't."

Shisui, apparently, didn't.


	9. Chapter 9

Sakura paced across the briefing room, back and forth – Itachi was _late_. It was unusual for a person with such strict punctuality, more disgruntling, and most unnerving. The door was slid open after her twelfth round, and Itachi strode inside.

"You pass."

Straight to the point, incisive to a fault, and wholly…unexpected. Sakura stared at him, cleared her throat.

"Taichō?"

What came out of his mouth wasn't sparse in words – but it was even more unexpected.

"The fact that I had to beat some sense into my fool of a cousin means your skills are adequate enough – for this mission at the very least."

It took a few long seconds for the implications to infiltrate her mind, and when they did, Sakura was bemused as to how she should react or even feel. Hence, her medic side took over, reacted and felt for her.

"Is he all right?"

The way Itachi's lips curled, one quirk of mockery, spoke volumes of how inane her concern was. Sakura should have come to that conclusion on her own, yet confusion had numbed her mind but for a moment. Shisui was perfectly fine – and Sakura…was not. How Itachi's lips had thinned, no curl, no mockery, forewarned this.

"Shisui tends to become easily attached – for a month at a time. But he's not the only man who knows what sex is. Do yourself a favor, and find someone else."

His stare was hard, eyes jet-black and cold fire. It lapped at her skin, slid sharp and deep – dagger half-forged, calescent and malleable, nimbus of hot vapors as it was being cooled. Sakura must have gone insane – for what formed in her mind was insane._ No. _It circulated in her bloodstream, rush of boldness, rip of nerves. What he wanted, this time, she would not give. That foolish _girl_ would have, but Sakura was no longer she. _He_ was the one who had made it so.

She felt the heat of his eyes, the chill in his voice, yet still neither was enough to halt that surge of denial from cresting over her lips.

"Why?"

Something flashed in his irises, less black, more crimson, maybe warning, maybe intrigue – she couldn't be certain, but it mattered not. It was too late to take it back, to quell that sinuous flare.

"You are messing with my personal rules."

_Ah_. It wasn't even about Shisui any longer. Sakura could fathom what he forbade, what he demanded, but once that spark of defiance had been ignited, it could only grow into serpentine fires.

"_You_ told me to."

Perhaps it was the truth in her words, daring smeared on red lips, perhaps the lie, that allusive intonation – because he hadn't given an order, merely _choice_ – she couldn't tell what provoked this reaction, but his eyes glared like metal, dagger full-forged, blood-edged. There was no other warning, only the cold of the wall against her cheek, breasts flattened and aching, the heat of his body on the contours of her back, pressure and sinewy muscles. A sound escaped her throat, half-moan, half-hiss, but she didn't struggle. Her arms were pulled and bound above her shoulders, wrists overlaying one another, trapped in his grip, coils of steel stretched under skin. His voice flowed over the slope of her neck, permeated sensitized flesh and nerves.

"Another lesson then."

It was sentient, that rasp of nuance, fructified submission, meant to hypnotize, stimulate the senses. Utterly unfair. Sakura did struggle then, however futile the attempt, if only to drown that sound, lessen its effects. His grip became tighter; his body pressed harder. She burned and seethed; need and rage warred with each other. Lava amassed low in her abdomen, dripping lower, drenching the flesh where hip fused with thigh. She was furious, aroused, and she hated him as much as she wanted him in this moment.

"What am I thinking right now?"

_That_ voice… His breath fanned on the nape of her neck, agonizingly close; his arm snaked around her waist, drew her tight against him. Fingers clasped the edge of her shirt, lifted it high, cool air and hot, ridged skin on the flat of her stomach. Sakura gave him a low sound, unwitting, shivers and spasms, the closer those fingers moved to the juncture of her legs, until they slipped under the elastic of her shorts, inside soaked fabric. The pads of his fingers glided over softness, sampled her sensitivity, back and forth, in maddening motions. She arched against him, seeking more of that friction, those sumptuous motions, but didn't give him the satisfaction of being more vocal yet. Languorous strokes, firm-pressed, nails grazing, not too rough, not too soft, making her writhe and tremble.

"That I'm a fool…" Her voice had regressed to a cluster of instincts, full of moan and breath. His fingers sank inside, dipping low, delving into slick flesh, thrust against layers of tissue and skin. It inflamed her nerve endings, and she made a sound between a growl and a hiss, gasped the end of her sentence. "– and wet."

"No."

His arm tightened around her, an onslaught of restriction and power, his strokes became faster, angled deeper. She was _close_, so close – and for some reason, this knowledge called to that hunk of primal instincts, deliquesced that clot of aggression. It sizzled just above the surface, coursed beneath taut skin. A moan raptured her throat, low, husky, threads of sound woven into satisfaction – but then he took pause.

"A foolish _girl_…" More rasp than voice, it spilled in her ear, tongue licking around the smooth curve, teeth biting into flushed skin. She bucked against him, forced him to slide deeper, relished the intrusion of teeth and long fingers; they bent and twisted and rubbed in all the right ways; but it ended too _soon_. Much _too_ soon. His fingers withdrew from the tight clasp of her muscles, left her unsated, wrenched a feminine snarl. "– and fucking wet."

Her mouth curled in vexation, but before Sakura could speak, those same fingers touched her lips. They glissaded in circles, slathering wetness, viscous and zesty – then lowered, clutched her jaw, tilted her neck until she met his eyes. Dark melted into lust, visceral, his eyes ravished her as much as his fingers, stimulated areas he was no longer touching – and more. Heat pooled and slinked and coated the insides of her thighs. His tongue laved the slant of her mouth, hot and rough, from one corner to the other, tasting what he had spread there; teeth sank into her bottom lip, drew swollen flesh into his mouth, provoked a chain of reactions. Sakura moaned and shivered; want triumphed over rage. Nothing but a tease, a kink of foreplay, over _too_ soon. Much too _soon_.

_Again_.

"Mission begins in an hour. Tell the others."

Itachi was gone before she could register his grip loosening, his fingers releasing her wrists. Sakura understood then what he liked, what Sasuke had warned her against. It had been inconceivable the first time, subtle the second, but glaringly obvious now.

* * *

><p>Hatred weighted too low in the scale of Itachi's affinity to emotional resonance, but there <em>were<em> few things he was not quite fond of. Having his personal rules disrupted, twisted, or corrupted placed very high on that list. Whether it was successful or failed on the perpetrator's side mattered very little. The fact that the attempt had been made was incitement all its own – and that girl _was_ rousing iotas of sensation under his skin, though rather diverse to the ones she sought to kindle or would have been pleased for. It was an amalgam of pique and amusement, tenuous but indisputable in presence, best left slumbering. Itachi rarely differentiated between means when rectifying such disturbances, merely used the quickest and most effective ways in absolving the issue. In her case, that would have been failing her in his monthly evaluation and severing all contact, Kakashi's challenge notwithstanding, yet what he had done was almost opposite to that – Itachi had given her even more of an incentive based on an _urge_.

It had been too long since he had last felt that urge, so long that he barely recognized it for what it was – and not until _after_ their second mission did it fully sink in. Human behavioral patterns varied between individuals, yet were easy to identify and catalogue for exploitation after close observation. Itachi had studied the members of his team from afar for six years – courtesy of Kakashi and not counting Sasuke – to be cognizant of each one's quirks and habits, strengths and weaknesses, all their _hows_ and _whys_ behind each action and choice. Adjustment was inevitable once they entered ANBU, predestined to occur, slowly yet surely, but Itachi could guess and evaluate the nature and extent of such changes for each member. His calculations had been correct for the most part so far, but there was a slight deviation, _something_ he hadn't predicted, something that drew him to reevaluate his conclusions, repeat the process of careful examination.

Haruno Sakura displayed behavioral patterns Itachi had _not_ accounted for. Fear, disgust, resolve, guilt, shame, anger, aversion, lust, boldness – Itachi had expected _all_ those things and more. But her method of detaching mind from action, killing emotions for the span of each mission, laying them to grave and resurrecting them in the safety of the aftermath – _completely_ _intact_ – was a novelty he had scarcely encountered in another human nor would have deemed plausible for _her_. Not for a _medic_ nin. If it was nothing but a façade, insidiously slathered veneer, then it was one applied with masterful technique, but he was disinclined to believe that. That girl did not merely mute emotions, nor was _ANBU_ yet thrust so deep into the pith of her cells for them to simply palliate; she sliced the umbilical cord feeding them, only to suture it once more; and she did so on an intrinsic level that defied his previous analysis.

_Curiosity_. She had awakened _that_ urge, to experiment and observe, examine and determine _what_ that façade was made of and _if_ it could be taught to others. It could prove to be very beneficial if it was nurtured and not inherent, would grow and propagate ANBU's dwindling numbers. But Itachi needed to train her first, to mold her into the perfect ANBU shinobi, for the completion of this project and to obtain accurate results – and she was _still_ lacking in many areas yet not without potential as he had previously thought. If Itachi didn't know any better, he'd even call that urge _fascination_, but it was too early to be that.

* * *

><p>Turbid, suffocating tension, deluged in copper and heat. It pulsated with an irregular rhythm beneath her ribcage, overflowed in her lungs, saturating layers of skin, fusing with her viscera. Sakura remained comatose, a living, breathing statue. Her eyes traced the carnage spewed across the ground, innards and organs and blood soaking the earth; her brows creased in a frown, thin lips parted, every muscle in her body contracted, respiration resumed in shallow breaths. <em>I…did it again.<em> Panic startled her into awareness, settled with a pinch of nerves. Sweat clung to her skin, dripped in dips and crevices, hair damp, matted against her scalp, face, and neck. Inhalation. Exhalation. Memory returned, pierced her mind, fragmented voices and motions.

"_Kill them."_

"_Taichō –"_

"_Take the hime to her chambers, Sasuke. Entertain her."_

"_Hesitance. Again."_

"_But…taichō, it wasn-"_

"_Too much and unnecessary. Again."_

"_Taichō…I –"_

"_I'm heading back. You three can follow after you clean up."_

"Are you alright, Sakura-chan?"

Naruto's hand was warm on her shoulder, steady and strong, fingers splayed and squeezing lightly. A sound crawled out from the nadir of her throat, hoarse and squeaky, and she shook her head, blinked the haze away.

"Yeah…I'm fine."

Sakura eyed the masses of flesh and entrails strewn across the forest floor a couple miles away from the Daimyō's estate. Their mission had progressed smoothly, almost too easily, for the most part. They had infiltrated the party under guises, gleaned the information they needed through means Sakura would rather not recall, found the hideout where Mika-hime was being kept captive, and rescued her, barring a minor complication. The girl had been as much terrified of her rescuers as of her captors, and Sasuke had removed his mask in an attempt to calm her. It had…unexpected results, or expected under other circumstances. Mika-hime had glued herself to him and refused to heed anyone else, not even her father when they had brought her back along with her assailants. The Daimyō, unlike his usual weak demeanor, exuded resolution, lips bloodless and eyes severe, features pulled tight. He had taken one look at the criminals, nodded at Itachi with a furtive glance toward his daughter, though she was still well into shock and clutching Sasuke with a death grip, and then –

"Iruka-sensei always made me clean up after my messes."

Naruto's voice filtered through the chaos in her mind and all around her, registered weary and a tad disgusted, but it was familiar, made this feel less of what it was – less gory, less abhorrent, less inhuman.

"Just think of it as paint…with chunky bits?"

She felt her lips stretch, her throat vibrate, shaky smile and laughter, but before she could reply, Sasuke landed with a soundless leap between them.

"She is a _medic_, idiot. Blood doesn't faze her. Her issue is –"

Her voice spilled forth, husky and strained, changed the subject, almost mechanically.

"How did you escape from Mika-hime?"

Sasuke stared at her for a quiet moment. His gaze was sharp, assessing and delving, but he must have decided that what she needed most was distraction, not psychoanalysis. He bent down to assist in the disposal, shrugged.

"Genjutsu."

A loud _splash _echoed as Naruto dropped _something_.

"Temee…you actually did that to the _Daimyō's_ daughter?"

Sakura cringed, ignored that sound, and chuckled dryly.

"Shishō will put you through a wall if she finds out."

"She should thank me. It was _that_ kind of genjutsu."

Even though Sakura wasn't looking at Sasuke when he said that, she could envision his expression. Annoyance was palpable in his tone. Another loud _splash_, another dropped _something_.

"Wait…you did _stuff_ to her?"

Sakura winced. Sasuke grunted.

"Itachi didn't leave me with a choice, and she _wouldn't_ let me go. It was either that or physically do it."

A sigh made its way out of her lips, heavy and disgruntled.

"We're not getting paid enough for this."

_Splash_. _Something_.

"We _are_ getting paid for this?"

"Not in this case."

"Damn."

* * *

><p>Sunrays peeked through blues and tuft-white when they returned to the village. Naruto's mouth split wide in a drawn-out yawn, mumbling something that sounded like <em>see ya later<em> behind his mask, then he leapt on a roof, and headed to his flat. Sakura would have mimicked him had Sasuke's voice not halted her.

"Sakura."

It was low tones and skepticism, as if he wasn't quite sure of broaching whatever matter was on his mind, but Sakura couldn't see his face to judge better. Hence, she waited, peering at him through the thin slits of her mask.

"What did you do to my cousin?"

Curiosity for certain, perhaps even intrigue – if Sakura had inferred his tone right. Displeasure rumbled in her throat. She felt like slapping him upside down and burying him into a crater. _Now_ he displayed some signs of interest? Because she was good enough for his cousin then she was good enough for him at long last?

"I healed him a couple days ago and followed that up with a check-up today."

Her voice couldn't be wrier when she spoke, and though she didn't lie, Sasuke knew there was more to it than that. But Sakura wanted _him_ to ask for it, partly out of some warped sense of satisfaction, partly because she was angry with him – and he did.

"I didn't ask you that."

A chuckle slipped below her mask. A mixture of taunt and tease.

"You should have asked what I did _with_ your cousin then."

How his poise went rigid, muscles taut and clenching in his arms, revealed she had made an impression, but Sakura discovered she didn't much care for it. Surprising…but true.

"Look, I'm tired." Her foot tapped on the ground once. It drew his gaze across the length of her leg, the curve of her thigh, the arc of her calf, then all the way up again. "Can we do this tomorrow?"

"Shisui only does casual things."

As if Sakura wasn't aware. Sasuke was _too_…obvious, so much so that Sakura wondered if she had been blind or deaf or _daft_ not to be able to read him for six long damn years when it was child's play now, hilariously so.

"Your point being?"

He didn't reply but she neither gave him time for such. Sakura wound her arms around his neck, arched and pressed herself against him, bones and metal clashing, rubbed the scent of skin and blood and woman on him. Sasuke stiffened, quiet and still and inflexible. A smirk spread across her lips, but she awaited the subtlest move on his part, and when it came, she disentangled herself fluidly, tilted her neck in farewell.

"Thanks for the concern. See you later…_Sasuke_."

* * *

><p>Tsunade didn't even bother to inquire about his mission when Itachi stepped into her office. His reports were always perfect; she would interrogate her brat of a disciple tomorrow anyway; and she had more pressing matters to discuss with him.<p>

"Taniuchi-dono has sent a request again."

She clicked her tongue, threw a scroll at him. Itachi perused its contents, nodded once.

"Will you decline this time?"

Her face scrunched up in a grimace, lips chewed and swollen.

"I'm still thinking about it."

A sigh worked its way out of her larynx, stress-ridden, laden with frustration.

"You know how it goes. We do something for him, he does something for us, and so on and so forth…"

Itachi merely inclined his neck, voiced the reason of her reactions.

"But you don't like such arrangements."

"It leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

As if the metaphor manifested itself, she frowned, downed a cup of sake to rid herself of that taste, then gazed at him with lingering indecision.

"Will you go if I accept?"

Itachi knew she always asked to give herself the push she needed since his reply had never once changed.

"Yes."

"Fucking hell." She refilled her glass, grimly resolute, gave the barest nod, and had another drink. "Katsuo will be at the usual meeting place with the information. I don't want to know the details. Just…take care of it."

He knelt in compliance, receiving the order, but he didn't leave. Tsunade wouldn't like what he'd suggest, but it made no difference – she would agree.

"May I take the kids?"

Her cup was smashed against the desk. She glared at him, though it was laced with wariness.

"It's too early for them."

"They need experience."

A blond brow prompted him to elaborate, not that he wouldn't have since she seemed in need of another push.

"Sakura made a mess, Naruto is too jittery, and Sasuke lacks discipline."

Teeth bit into her lower lip, reddened and bled the soft flesh, but it was a rather convincing push.

"Fine," she all but barked.

* * *

><p>The atmosphere was thick with noises and smells, dimly lit suffocation. Calm, meticulous, Itachi surveyed his surroundings with keen eyes. Smoke-ringed laughter, flashes of skin carelessly exposed, cheap alcohol in cheaper glasses, nefarious intentions on the tip of tongues and the glint of eyes. He gave his back to the rowdy mass of people. The rim of his glass remained untouched, his mind unclouded by the lethargic vibes its content promised. <em>Unsanitary place. <em>Then again, humans were an unsanitary flock, at least those who frequented such places. Loud and reckless until the quiet moment that came for them all at some point in time.

His lips quirked, one curve of delectation, thinly dry. He gave his glass a twist, ripples of iced liquid, reflection of silver-black eyes. It would be so facile to cleanse this place, erase all traces of taint wearing the guise of humanity. Easy but worthless. There was no order to entertain such notions save for _silence_. A hum of chuckle tickled his throat. That, too, had its own merit, he supposed.

He gave his glass another twist, contemplated the consequences of swiping this murky place clean. Worthless but perhaps worth it. _Possibly_. He was still pondering the possibility when another man took a seat beside him.

"Do me a favor and…just don't do it." Currents of weariness underlined Katsuo's voice. A sigh played on his lips, soundless under the ruckus. Tired eyes regarded Itachi for a few seconds, their blue streaked with cynicism, then a wry smirk formed on Katsuo's lips. "For the sake of our long acquaintance."

Itachi met Katsuo's smirk with one of his own. Sharper. Wrier. "I haven't known you for that long."

Katsuo shook his head, gave a dry laugh. "A year is considered a long time in our profession." A somber tone daubed the blue of Katsuo's eyes then, turned it a paler shade, old-aged. "Besides, I'll be the one cleaning up the mess if you do it."

Katsuo's claim was true but ludicrous, brought an edge to Itachi's features, reminded him of that _girl_.

"I never leave a mess."

It came out lighter than it was supposed to, yet the threat was still there, shining brightly. Katsuo's laughter dispersed the harshness of the statement, uncoiled the strings of tension.

"Our definition of that term vastly differs. A dead body is a dead body – no matter the amount of messiness in the killing of it."

Itachi couldn't help but consent to this point, to some degree at least. His neck slanted, more habit than nod.

"I guess we've been acquainted for far too long."

Katsuo raised a thick brow at that, stared at him with a familiar expression.

"Too long, now is it?" He shook his head again, laughed under his breath. "You should get rid of that bad habit of yours, saying one thing then one minute later saying the exact opposite. I can never tell which one is true."

"Both hold a measure of truth." A mere shrugging of shoulders, leisure satisfaction.

Itachi placed his glass on the bar, still untouched, and removed his gloves, slowly, almost methodically, then lit a cigarette. When he turned to his companion again, his voice regressed to a lower octave, despite the lack of need to do so. "But you didn't come here to debate the diversity of my personality."

A snort resounded from Katsuo's side, more nasal than throaty. "Diversity, my ass. You're just being ambiguous as usual." He reached inside his jacket, cautious motions, practiced. The exchange happened so swiftly as if it had never taken place at all. "Here's the information on your target and down payment. You'll get the rest when the job is done as always. A small fee will be subtracted for my services after you're done. The Hokage is aware."

Itachi's lips thinned to a straight line, shadow of elation slathered on the angles of his face. There was the order he awaited, less of a reason to kill, more of an excuse, but it would be too little to be called merely that. "Ten percent?"

The corners of Katsuo's lips tilted slightly. "Five." He drew closer, enunciated the words he spoke next. "For the sake of our long acquaintance."

Itachi watched the man carefully, his open smile. It brimmed with eagerness, but it was another kind, too vicious for a smile, twined with something dark. Understanding dawned on him. _Personal._

"What is the favor you need?"

It was Katsuo's turn to shrug, that smile firmly etched on his mouth. "Nothing much. Since you're cutting off the head why not a limb as well?"

Even though Itachi hadn't examined the contents of the file, didn't have the faintest clue on his target this time, his associate's words made one thing clear. This wasn't the case of an individual hit, but an organized syndicate, and there was someone in it that Katsuo wanted dead. Lips casually upturned, he nodded. It didn't matter to the Hokage or him, anyway.

"Consider the favor granted."

Katsuo's eyes narrowed at his expression, recognized the meaning beneath the calm exterior, and he exhaled a heavy groan.

"Fifteen percent for the whole lot. Bloody maniac... It always has to be a massacre with you."

Itachi stared at the man one last time, thoughts laid bare in the gleam of his gaze, mouth curled with sordid pleasure. Perhaps they had been acquainted for too long, after all.

"I have rookies to train."

Somehow, the recollection of that _girl_ more than amused him now.


	10. Chapter 10

Sakura came awake panting and thrashing, drenched in cold sweat and shivers, sheets rough-slicked and grazing on her skin. _Air – I need… _She drew breath deep into her lungs then released it in one sweep of a gasp. Her neck rolled back onto her pillow, chest falling and rising, heart pulsing in an erratic tempo, tremors creeping down her spine. It was nothing but sensation, dread convulsing inside, suffusing veins and arteries, blood poisoned and chill, orphan of memory and origin. She must have been clutched by a nightmare, but her mind was eerily blank. White noise blared in her eardrums, sound rending her brain in a straight line, from one ear to the other. Her eyes focused on the vastness of her ceiling, traced motes of light flickering rapidly, slipping through her window blinds – then she furrowed into the mattress, lids shut tight, palms clammy and rubbing against her cheeks. Irrational. Intense.

She pushed herself off the bed slowly, shakily. Her feet touched the floor, but she didn't trust herself to stand yet, head hung low, cradled in her hands. Fingers wove in a mass of tangled, damp hair, and she bit her lip, tasted the salt of her skin and iron. _It must be noon_. Perception of time crawled into that emptiness, spawned thoughts and gripped her mind. Sakura was supposed to have been in Tsunade's office by noon, filtering through scrolls and mundane affairs. One glance at her clock verified that guess, and she scrambled off the bed, more stressed than invigorated. No time, no shower, no make-up. Merely water splashed on her face, teeth brushed quickly, limbs shifting into clothes and shoes.

It was warm and aggravating under the midday sun as she rushed through bustling streets and people, fabric and dust clinging to her skin, with not enough of a breeze to cool her down. Sakura arrived at the Hokage tower near breathless, one blur of pink and woman climbing up stairs and bursting into Tsunade's office, only to come to an abrupt stop, bent over and nails digging into her knees.

"Good afternoon, sunshine. Glad you finally found your way here."

Tsunade's voice rang dry and sharp. Green eyes peeked through messy locks, lustered with heat.

"I could do…with a little less irony…and a little more coffee."

Sakura only received one pound of smirk and more irony.

"And I would like to retire today and spend the rest of my years as a happy alcoholic, but we don't always get what we want."

Her lips pursed, but Sakura wisely ignored that, feeling drained. It wasn't physical exertion but _something_ else – dark matter, slow-spread and elusive, its tendrils wispy yet barb-edged, scraping and puncturing and gorging itself on her energy. It was barely below the surface, still visible, easy to pull out and watch it writhe and die, but Sakura pushed it deeper, gave it more and fed its hungers. When she could respire again, she poured herself a cup of coffee, and slumped into her chair.

"I heard you got a passing mark."

Tsunade's tone might have been casual, but there was nothing casual about her comment. Sakura merely sighed, sipped her coffee, bitter and scalding on her tongue.

"Can we please not talk about that?"

Weary, almost pleading, and much to her dismay, heeded in favor of something even less welcome. Tsunade's smirk expanded, a dazzle of teeth and demand.

"All right. How was your mission then?"

Sakura half-groaned, half-rumbled. "Shishō –"

"Choice of subject is yours, but we _are_ going to talk."

There was no smirk, no dazzle, only demand now, thin-lipped and smeared on gilded sienna. Sakura knew she couldn't circumvent, and it was futile to delay, but Tsunade could at least share the reason for this interrogation. Mien somber, quieted, she stared at her shishō.

"Why?"

Something passed through Tsunade's eyes, lightning fast, but Sakura saw it, knew that glint for what it was – sorrow coalesced with anger. She had asked an asinine question whose answer Sakura should have been aware without Tsunade having to give it voice.

"Because you'll always be _my_ girl, and I need to make sure you'll be alright."

A smile tugged on Sakura's lips, soft but weak and a little humbled. There weren't many things to say on her part either, only one.

"How?"

"There are many ways." Tsunade hummed then chuckled wryly. "Food, sex, sleep – that trifecta of basic needs is standard ANBU method of therapy, and what Itachi would tell you to do."

Sakura could almost hear Itachi's voice embodying that._ Eat something, fuck someone, and get some fucking sleep. _A chuckle birthed itself in her throat, joined Tsunade's, wrier and full of self-pity, but Tsunade didn't allow her to wallow in it for long.

"Mine is talking, so _talk_."

A pink brow rose mockingly. "You mean drinking."

"That works for me, not you." Tsunade smirked, derision on red lips, even though she was reaching for a bottle of sake while she yet spoke. "But since you insist."

Shaking her head, Sakura abandoned her coffee, rather undrinkable today, and moved her chair beside her shishō's. Cups exchanged hands, clangored at mutual toast, then fire speared through her body, coiling and sizzling low in her stomach, warming her blood. It untangled that knot of words sewn on her vocal cords, what she had wanted to tell her shishō for days now yet had refrained, foolishly refused to do so.

"I get this feeling…or _not_ feeling, actually." A frown creased her forehead, skin lined, made thin and brittle. "I disconnect during missions, somehow. It's difficult to explain…"

Sakura grimaced as she paused, unsure of how to describe it, but she didn't have to. Tsunade refilled her cup, sighed above her own, light yet heavy.

"So that's your defense mechanism." Silent toast. Liquid fire. "And why you make a mess."

Sake burned more than usual today. Sakura sucked in a hiss of breath; Tsunade exhaled with satiation.

"You can't keep doing that, though."

It was redundant to say this, much less deny it.

"I know." Sakura met Tsunade's eyes, mouth contorting into a smile, jade and jaded. "But I can't control it."

A sigh spilled forth, rippled over the surface of Tsunade's drink, almost chastising. "It's because you follow the rules to the letter."

Sakura quirked a thin brow, taken aback. It sounded as if Tsunade disapproved of her fixation as much as Kakashi, though it was the first time her shishō had made that fact known, unlike her former sensei – and even Kakashi followed most rules to the letter. He simply held his own views over which ones were absolute, which could be bended, and which broken.

"Shinobi mustn't show emotion. It's in the rules and all that, but you take it to extreme measures. When you're forced to do something you _can't_ then you turn to the rules for guidance. It's almost like self-hypnosis in your case."

Tsunade stared at her with a mixture of sympathy and reprimand, juxtaposition of an expression. If Sakura was confused before, it was nothing to what she felt now. Stunned. Shocked. Her lips parted but no words came out. _Self-hypnosis?_ She did this to herself? Not only that…but –

That _can't_ lanced through her like decalescent metal, heated to a critical point. Many questions, many doubts, swirled in her mind. On what level of intellectual endeavor did her motor/nervous/sensory reaction remove itself from emotion and become instinct, electro-chemical, matter and energy divided? Did subconscious recollection thicken the emotional ties she severed? Was that nightmare she held no memory over related to this anomaly of brain function? By will, to set the thought in motion – by will, to let action acquire thoughtless speed. _By will?_ It was surreal, but if Tsunade claimed it was so…

Only one question fell from her lips, breathless, dependent on Tsunade's medical expertise.

"How do I stop it?"

"You don't."

Such finality, such naked pity, Tsunade's tone bled that Sakura paled. She stilled, wide-eyed, dread-possessed. Something was placed into her hands, brought to her lips, and she drank mechanically, sputtered and coughed. Her cheek was pinched then. Hard. Sakura winced, basked in the fire of sake and the pain of reality. She refilled her cup on her own this time, gulped down its contents, and Tsunade barked a short laugh, but when she spoke again, the weight of age and regret was palpable in her nuance.

"It stops naturally when you come to the inevitable realization that as a shinobi who metes out death based on the decisions of a fallible few or your own equally fallible perceptions, mortality is moot. I must make the decisions as Hokage, and you must execute them as Konoha shinobi – for the sake of the village. They're not always the right decisions, and they almost never feel right. That's all there is to it." Then she downed her cup, gave a humorless chuckle. "That and sake."

Sakura was cogent of the words as words, but their meaning when strung into these sentences was too cruel, discordant to human sensibilities and the mentality of a medic. If this was the culmination of the life Tsunade had lived then perhaps she was the one who deserved to be pitied. Sakura had not yet earned that right, hadn't devoured as much of that acrid pome as her shishō. She had been a child, sheltered and protected, her eyes closed to the world and its unpalatable truths. To be catapulted into such things so suddenly, to be forced to imbibe such truths, naturally disrupted her equilibrium, affected her in mysterious and eccentric ways – and still she rejected that realization, even when laid bare before her like this. Tsunade might have reckoned that she was doing Sakura a favor by spelling it out, but Sakura would rather have come to this knowledge on her own – because then she wouldn't blame Tsunade like she did now.

Master and disciple were truly alike, but maybe just this once they were different, maybe Sakura wasn't as strong-willed or obstinate or arrogant as Tsunade to believe she could jump over this hurdle, pull herself out of this quagmire. Maybe only shinobi like Itachi were suited for things of this nature, perhaps even meant for them.

"Does the Captain share your views?"

"Itachi?" If Tsunade was surprised, she hid it well under rumination. Mouth aslant, one twist of red lips, she gave a small huff, quite cynical. "Up to the execution part, yes. After that, I highly doubt it."

It wasn't difficult to infer the reason behind Sakura's question, though – at least not for Tsunade. She shook her head, offered another cup to her disciple.

"But you don't have to become _him_ to be an ANBU shinobi. Itachi is…unique – even amongst his peers."

Sakura didn't doubt her captain's uniqueness – the man was a prodigy unlike no other Sakura had ever met, with the idiosyncrasies of one – but she did doubt the first part of her shishō's sentence. It must have shown in her expression because Tsunade waved a hand, almost impatiently, explained her reasoning.

"Take Kakashi or Shisui, for example. Excellent ANBU shinobi but neither is quite like Itachi. Personality isn't a deciding factor. What you need is the realization I mentioned earlier, but that never comes easy or quick."

_What if it never comes?_ Sakura sighed. Sake was easier to swallow than _realization_, so she drank. It burned the raw flesh of her chewed lips, and she hissed but still drank, licked her lips to soothe the sting. Green eyes rose slowly, glazed with denial and confusion. Sakura gazed at Tsunade through the haze of self-worthlessness.

"You really think I can do it?"

Silence spread in the thickness of the air between them, cloyed with alcoholic agents and censure. Sakura couldn't draw her gaze away, could only plunge into gold, deep and liquescent and intense. Heat lapped at her skin, seeping inside, layer after layer, melting tissue and bone.

"It doesn't matter what _I_ think."

Tsunade's voice held another kind of heat, soft and quiet. Sakura felt small and denuded under that heat. Then Tsunade smiled, conviction enameled on sharp angles.

"But I wouldn't have let you join if I didn't."

It didn't register for a few seconds, and when it did, muscles cramped in Sakura's face, twitched into something that must have been a smile, but it was humbler than before and full of gratitude and too trembling to be called a smile. She really should have known these things before Tsunade was forced to spew them in her face, making them real and indisputable, but Sakura was still in the process of transitioning, still needed to hear them. Tsunade didn't need to hear Sakura's _thank_ _you _though, and there was nothing else to say. Hence, Sakura drank again.

"So, do you plan on screwing your captain anytime soon?"

Sakura choked on her first gulp, coughed and spat, body ashake and fist slamming on her chest. A spittle of saliva and sake dribbled down her chin. She wiped it with the back of her hand and glared at her shishō, more panted than spoke.

"Couldn't you have at least waited till I finished swallowing?"

"You need to work on that."

Tsunade's smirk was too devious for that remark to be anything other than innuendo. It was too much to expect that Tsunade would hold a serious conversation for more than half an hour, anyway. Sakura shook her head, humored her master for the mere sake of it.

"I'll make it my foremost priority on the list of things I need to learn."

"Now _that_ list is quite high."

"And orgasm denial tops it."

"Ah. You finally get it."

Tsunade chuckled, self-indulgent and husky, and Sakura's eyes thinned. She stared at her shishō with accusation, gave a low hiss.

"You knew?"

"Anko has a loose tongue." Nothing but a shrug and a wicked gleam. "I told you to talk to her but you didn't listen."

Sakura groaned. She should have known, yet it was too subtle a hint, not to mention a private matter despite how loose Anko's tongue was.

"_That_ was your hint?"

Undeterred, even spurred by Sakura's reaction, Tsunade chuckled again, that gleam turning dim and mocking.

"If I had flat out told you at that point, I'm not sure you'd have appreciated it."

Sakura could only snort at that. "Whereas now I will?"

The corners of Tsunade's lips curled, decadently twisted.

"You still want to screw him, don't you?"

It was all she could do not to snort again – but she couldn't deny it, and it ate at her. Sakura scowled, ground her teeth, and replied in the only manner she could.

"I think I should get a taste of what normal sex is before I try that."

If Tsunade's small nod was any indication, Sakura would swear that her master was impressed.

"Now that is almost…wise."

* * *

><p>Sakura wasn't sure how to interpret the fact that each time her team occupied ANBU's briefing room, it seemed to magically empty itself of all other occupants in the span of mere seconds. Sasuke certainly wasn't intimidating enough in his silence, even calmer than usual actually; Naruto was grinning too much, though in retrospect that could have been quite scary; and Sakura kept glaring at that damned chair as if it was still slick with her arousal and frustration. Perhaps it was simply the awareness that their presence signaled Itachi's arrival. Sakura couldn't fault them if that was the case, but were senior ANBU operatives such cowards or was Itachi too much for anyone besides the Hokage – and maybe Shisui – to handle? If he <em>was<em> then Sakura had really bitten off more than she could chew – and this shouldn't be as thrilling as it was.

If not for the door being slid open, and Itachi striding inside, Sakura wouldn't have even known he was in the building. His steps were soundless, his chakra suppressed to undetectable levels. He could have killed them before they even felt the strike of his blade. Shivers slithered along the juts of her vertebrae, blood seethed and flowed faster in her veins. It wasn't fear but exhilaration. _Madness_. She must have gone insane if she was being turned on by this, yet that wet sensation in the apex of her thighs couldn't be disguised as anything else, and when he spoke –

"The mission this time is quite special. Details will be conveyed orally and target profiles will be acquired by reconnaissance."

His words gave her pause, made her hearken to the implications. This mission would last longer than usual if they were to do surveillance. But they did nothing to alleviate that burn in the seam of her thighs. The colder his voice was the hotter she burned.

"Taniuchi-dono is the commissioner of this request. His signet was stolen by the Mataba and used to fabricate orders and documents. It must be retrieved and revenged without it being known that such a thing was accomplished . Do I need to explain what that entails?"

It was over in an instant. Sakura felt as if dowsed with a bucket full of ice, that cleft between her thighs humid and sticky, horripilation crawling on her skin. Taniuchi-dono was a well-known lord with significant power in the Land of Fire, able to sway decisions and politics, but that shouldn't matter to a shinobi village like Konoha. ANBU was usually mobilized for internal affairs or acted as bodyguards and escorts to the Hokage and the Daimyō. They _shouldn't_ be involved in such things. Konoha could accept the retrieval part of the mission if placed under an official request, even with all the secrecy demanded, and dispatch a team of Jōnin – but not _ANBU_. And definitely not the assassination part implied which Sasuke bluntly made explicit.

"The Mataba head must pay the price."

Itachi's eyes bored into Sasuke's, pleased yet not. It all made sense with his next words.

"The Mataba _clan_."

Silence deluged the space, arctic and foreboding. Sasuke cleared his throat, vocalized Sakura's issue.

"This should not be Konoha's concern, though."

Itachi chuckled. It was silk-soft and twined with sordid things and the first time Sakura had heard him make such a sound.

"Normally, yes. But as I said, this is a special case. Think of it as a favor owed."

Chill invaded her insides, froze organs and flesh in its path. Sakura's heartbeat slowed until she could barely feel its pulse. A lord's signet was the most important thing in his possession. It was representative of family, honor, personal values, actions taken, final decisions, and many other things. There was also some psychological attachment on the part of the owner since it was passed down through generations. But to kill an entire clan in cold blood for an _object_, a genocide for royal favor? Acid flooded her insides, morphed that chill into magma, dissolved organs and flesh in its path. Sakura always followed the rules – but this _wasn't_ in the rules.

* * *

><p>Dusk was falling, nebulous glow reaching far and wide. Sakura shifted on her branch, growing more anxious the more that glow spread. Itachi would give the signal to infiltrate the Mataba clan's village soon. There had been enough preparation, enough waiting, enough disquiet – yet it wasn't enough for Sakura. It would <em>never<em> be enough. There was something obscurely wrong with what they were tasked to do, vile and atrocious and…_wrong_. When the signal came, Sakura leapt on Sasuke's branch, fingers curling around his shoulder, nails sinking into that patch of exposed skin on his arm.

"Sasuke." A tilt of his neck, indicator that he was listening, and she released him.

"Something doesn't feel right."

He stayed silent for a long moment then sighed.

"You mean how this is murder without labeling it as a deed done for the good of the village?"

It was more sarcasm than anything else, and she clicked her tongue, glared at him through the slits of her mask.

"Besides _that_."

Teeth bit the insides of her cheeks, bled the wet flesh. She all but growled in frustration then pointed a half-gloved finger toward the village.

"They're just…a clan of low-level shinobi. I mean, they haven't even realized we've been spying on them for a whole day."

"I noticed."

His calm and cool attitude grated on her nerves. Sakura had chosen to halt Sasuke because it would have taken a lot more time for Naruto to catch her drift, but perhaps she had underestimated Sasuke's intelligence if she had to break it down for him.

"Could they really be responsible for a feat such as stealing that signet under the nose of all those highly skilled shinobi contracted with Taniuchi-dono?"

More silence. Then he cursed.

"Fuck."

Sakura blinked. She couldn't recall him ever cursing – which meant things were _bad_. Sasuke was moving even while he yet spoke, and Sakura was forced to follow his excruciating pace, could barely hear him over the howling wind in her ears.

"We need to stop Naruto. This is a fucking test."

"_What_?"

"Itachi made us spy on them on purpose to see if we would come to that conclusion."

She almost lost her footing, hissed under her breath, but Sasuke wasn't slowing down, and she couldn't blame him after he explained the situation.

"Someone planted orders faked with the seal to make it appear as if the Mataba did it, framed them because they wanted them annihilated."

It vivified her malaise, harvested the seed of her fright. Her face blanched of all color; her heart quaked with dolorous tremors, as if wraith-like fingers were strumming a tune with its fibers. Sakura hadn't guessed that far, blinded by the wrongness to delve deeper into its origin.

"Oh god… Naruto is inside."

She must have been on the verge of hyperventilation, and her voice must have betrayed it, because Sasuke threw a glance behind his back, tried to calm her.

"He'll probably hesitate again. We'll make it in time."

But Naruto hadn't hesitated. Not this time. When they slipped into the Mataba head's bedroom, Naruto's kunai was embedded into the old man's heart, though the man was still writhing on his bed, blood soaking his chest and spilling onto the sheets.

"Good work. You all passed your individual tests."

Everyone stilled. All but the man in his death throes.

Itachi's voice was low but not cold, satiety thawed into sound. Sakura stared at him, swallowed thickly – all the horrors, the whys, the urges. For a split moment, she was filled with murderous intent, _conscious_ and visceral. If Itachi realized how much she wanted to kill him, it didn't show. When he spoke again, his tone was stripped of flavor, tasteless.

"Now heal him, erase his memories, and let's move on to the real targets."

* * *

><p>It was dark hours, wrapped in black velvet, when they returned. Insidious. Ensnaring. Sakura felt its lure more potently tonight, the impulse to slink into the night, do things better done in the dark. Blood-slicked, nerve-edged, she yearned for that <em>something<em> – to _feel_ and forget. Perhaps she should, perhaps she _must_.

_Yes. But later._

Her gaze took in her blond teammate, dragging his feet beside her. Naruto might not have hesitated, but he hadn't delivered an acute death blow. His blade had gone completely through the left ventricle, but his target had survived because the kunai was left buried in his chest. A stroke of luck if there ever was one in such cases.

"Naruto…" She touched his shoulder, one gentle caress, but he shrugged it off, mumbled under his mask.

"I just wanna go home."

Sakura didn't know how to comfort him because he was…_Naruto_ – he never needed comforting or so she was led to believe in all their years together. Sasuke, apparently, knew better.

"Let's go for ramen later."

"Temee…" Naruto's voice came hoarse and depleted, but there was a twinkle of a smile in it now. "You paying?"

Sakura barely muffled a laugh. Sasuke didn't suppress a grunt.

"Don't push it, idiot."

"Sakura-chan?"

She stroked his shoulder again, and he didn't brush her off this time. Ramen for breakfast it was.

"I wouldn't miss it."

* * *

><p>Many times women had sought out Shisui in the dead of night, yet they rarely were drenched in blood, shivers, and wretchedness. Sakura was leaning against the Uchiha's gates, dressed in ANBU apparel, clearly having just returned from a mission, and giving off vibes quite dangerous, more than a little unhealthy. For her.<p>

"You know –" Her neck sloped back at the sound of his voice, delicate and creamy, strips of skin untainted. "There are better ways to deal with PTSD than this."

"Shisui."

_Ah_. He was aware long before she dropped formalities, but it was her _voice_ that made him take her offer seriously.

"I didn't come here to talk." No regrets. Nothing but huskiness and woman. "If you're not interested…"

He chuckled, shook his head. "I didn't say that."

"My place. But I need a shower first."

Sakura was gone before his reply, though it was redundant to even nod. He settled back against the tree he was perched on, arms crossing and muscles flexing, hummed once.

"Are we going to do that again?"

Silence greeted him, filled with unspoken things. Shisui chuckled again, throaty and veined with amusement. Itachi was transparent when it came to that girl. It was a real pity she couldn't see it.

"Ah. I see." Shisui stood in one fluid motion, one last chuckle. "Aren't you caring?"

"If you're done, go fuck her."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Random fact. Hymens are sensitive to physical exercise. Let's leave it at that, aye? For the love of all that is sex, and so I won't have to write the wrong kind of blood play._

* * *

><p>Smoke was still coming down when Sasuke settled his back against the wall outside of Itachi's room.<p>

"Why did you let him go?"

"Sasuke." Itachi's voice filtered through the half-open shōji door – calm, almost too calm. "Copy her example. Go fuck someone, and get some sleep."

A derisive _hn_ was flung into the night wind, but Itachi could hear the aggravation meshed in the sound.

"Is that all there is to it?"

Itachi's lips quirked into a mirthless smile.

"It is what you make it to be." Something harsh slipped into his voice, faintly pulsed beneath that calm. "Don't make it more than it's advisable."

"Meaning Shisui can do it, but I can't?"

It would have been rather petulant if not for Sasuke's disposition disallowing such coloring in his tone.

"You know the rules."

"And if I make it more?"

Curious, light challenge. If Itachi had to guess, his brother was more intrigued by stepping on his authority than anything else – which made this conversation even more asinine.

"Not only will I fail you, but I will personally inform father."

_Ah_. Rising chakra, pumped with irritation. One of his brother's shortcomings, and one he needed to mediate if Sasuke wished to avoid Itachi's threat being more than merely that.

"Sasuke." His brother was already stepping away when Itachi spoke. Perhaps he shouldn't, perhaps it was too early for this hint – but Itachi reckoned it was time to teach him a few things. Their father's influence was having more of a negative effect the more the years passed. If let be, it would fester and suppurate and destroy any potential his brother had.

"We may all share the Sharingan in this clan, but we don't all see the same things. Ask father what that means when you can look him in the eyes."

* * *

><p>Sakura slung off her cloak the moment she took one step into her apartment. It landed in a careless heap on the floor, the tangy odor of blood and other bodily fluids clinging to the fabric. She was more careful with divesting her equipment, despite metal being far less delicate. A grimace of distaste touched her features, made her lips curl downcast. If fear possessed a scent then her skin was reeking of it. Sounds and smells and sensations slithered within her mind, dulled as all memories – the hum of metal, the last pulsation of life, flesh stripped down to the bones, copper and salt and iron, enforced awareness. Sakura despised many things in what she did, but this was the one aspect she <em>loathed<em>. Death was never silent for the giver of it, not before, not during, not after. It should be – but it never was.

A sigh spilled into the room, leaden and weary. Sakura stood in the center of her bathroom, submerged herself in silence, absent thought or memory. Minutes passed by, muscles clenched and unclenched, tension unraveled, until only the drum of her heartbeat remained, evened and slowed. _Shower_. _Sex_. _Sleep_. In this particular order. She wouldn't dwell on _wrongness_, wouldn't press and puncture and dissect until she found _realization _hidden in its body. Not this time.

Sakura wasn't sure when it had started, but Itachi's mentality was sinking inside her, soaking through skin and organs, liquefying itself and streaming through veins and arteries, merging with blood and tissue. Slow mutation. Once the change had begun it could never be halted or reversed, could only spread and escalate until it was fully fused with cells and nerves. The fact that she was choosing ANBU's insalubrious method of numbing that _feeling_ under other kinds of feeling spoke for itself – that she _didn't_ regret it spoke even louder. Guilt and shame tasted sour, filled her mouth but could neither be swallowed nor expelled, couldn't go up or down. Sakura was ready to sample other things – things that weren't unsavory, could be taken within, even relished if done right.

The water was warm against her skin, untangled the knots of fatigue as it dripped down the dips and swells of her body. Sakura took her time scrubbing herself clean of blood, washing her hair, leisure strokes of fingers and foam. Steam and the scent of gardenias filled the shower, loosened her muscles, and she lost perception of time. Perhaps she should have retained an iota of alertness, or perhaps it didn't matter – she felt him a little too late, grabbed him a little too soon. It all happened in one blur of motions. The sound of a body being slammed against the wall, water still falling overhead, drenching them both, tension awakening, sharper and hungry, electricity sparking on nerve endings. She would have devoured him whole in the haze of the moment, instinct-driven, almost desperate, but the grip of his hands on her waist stilled her, dissipated the fog of impulse.

"You know –" His voice brushed by her ear, slackened her clutch on him. "I'm wetter than you are right now."

Shisui sounded amused. It made her stare up into his eyes, take note of things. Sakura had him pinned against her shower wall, still very much dressed, clothes soaked and clinging to his skin, hands firm and fingers splayed on her sides, physical restraint and mirth.

She blinked, mouth falling open. "What –?"

"So let's try things my way, yes?"

Restraint morphed into pressure, places swapped, and she was being pressed against the wall, lifted up high, and higher, gliding along soap-lathered tiles, legs spread around his shoulders. She looked down, brain grown addle and fuzzy, then almost stricken when their position registered.

"Shisui…what are you –"

His eyes were level to her core, open and flushed for him. Shisui held her there so effortlessly, grinned up from between her thighs when he heard that note of alarm in her voice.

"You don't think I'll slip, do you?"

His breath fanned over her sex, roused shivers and tingles, made the eroticism of the act blatant and too much for her. Sakura bit her lower lip, palms flat against the tiles, awkward and a little mortified to be so exposed. It was all she could do to reach and turn off the water.

"No…but –" One lap of tongue on sensitive flesh, slow and rough and dragging. Her complaints melted into a moan, neck strained and head falling back.

His hands trailed down her hips, gripped her thighs and squeezed, not too hard, not too light, wrenched another moan, deeper and wanton. Another lap, teasing and sinuous, licking along the seam of skin burning and upward, snaking closer to that soft bundle of tissue and nerves. The tip of his tongue swirled around it, one languorous stroke – then his lips closed over the pulsing flesh, sucked and drew her into his mouth. Heat. Moisture. Suction.

"Oh god…" She near arched off the wall, fingers seeking, threading into his hair. Knees bending, calves pressed on his back, Sakura brought him closer, inflamed for more.

Shisui chuckled against her, hot breath and vibrations, teeth scraping and nipping, but she needed _more_. Boldness stirred within her, drank and fed on lust. One hand detached itself from that mass of black curls, circled his wrist, guiding it up her body, nails grazing against her stomach and ribs. Shisui must have understood because he was cupping and kneading one breast next, heavy with arousal, aching. A sound built in her throat, emerged needy and full of _please_, spine curved, flesh swelling and spilling into his touch.

"Oh yes…please…I need –" Then she felt them – fingers moving along her thigh, dipping low and delving inside, curling and twisting against softness, tongue laving that throb of want above them. Sakura hissed, hips bucking against his mouth, muscles clenching, swallowing his fingers deeper with each thrust and pull. Her hand tugged at his hair, made him stare up at her – moaning and out of breath and seething for him. Contractions and spasms and perspiration. _Close_, so close to falling over the edge. How his eyes had eclipsed, black liquescent, potent and aware of all the things he did to her, pushed her into shocks of sensation, electrified and consuming. Swept up into ecstasy, soaking heat, dripping and coiling around his fingers, across his tongue. Shisui made a low sound, rumble and satisfaction, pinched a hard nipple as she rode out the last tremors, as that rush ebbed into euphoria and gasps of satiation.

Sakura was being lowered to her feet then, skin oversensitive and brushing against fabric and muscles, wet and rough and hard. Her knees buckled and she slinked to the floor, panting and coming down from the endorphin high. Viridian gone hazy with lust, she licked her lips, dragged her gaze all over him. That grin on his lips was decadent, made her want to lick it off of him, taste herself on his tongue. Voice husky with need, laden with remnants of satiety and too breathy, she asked the only thing wrong with the man before her.

"Why are you wearing clothes?"

His lips twisted into something sinful, his eyes turned light and teasing.

"Why indeed."

Sakura's brows knit into a fraction of a frown until it dawned on her – she had fallen on him like a she-wolf during mating season. The realization should have filled her with embarrassment, but that point was surpassed with the first lick of his tongue. She rather liked the idea now, and it must have shown in the gaze she directed at him. Venery smeared on lush green, daring him to rid himself of those clothes. His laughter stroked her ears, layers of rasp and _man_. She liked that even more. It sent currents of pleasure surging from her nipples to her abdomen down to her toes – and when his shirt fell to the floor, she inhaled sharply, feasted on the rippling of muscles under that laughter. But when Shisui reached for his pants, Sakura crawled to kneel before him, replaced his hands with hers, and he made that self-indulgent sound again, let her do as she pleased. She liked that most of all.

Sakura unfastened his pants and pulled them down his legs with unhurried motions until he stepped out of them. Shisui stared down at her, mouth slanted on one side, hints of a grin and curiosity and nude skin. Teeth sank into her lip, made the flesh redder, glossier, drew his eyes to their plumpness. Laughter leeched away, merely black tinted with something primal and eager. Sakura held his gaze as she reached for him, fingertips dragging along the line of his erection, nails grazing lightly, back and forth. His lips peeled back, and he made a sound between a gnashing of teeth, hiss of a groan. _Again_. Sakura needed to hear it again, wanted to taste him, drink the pleasure of his body as she gave it pleasure. He was burning under her fingertips, strips of smooth skin, ridged in places, so hot and hard. She stared into his eyes, eyes too black, pupils blacker, _pleasure_ and something else, aggression, naked want and _more – _

"Are you thinking about it again?"

It was a warning – and _something_ else entirely, provocation vociferated. Sakura licked her lips, wrapped her fingers around him, and dipped her head low, tongue darting out, lapping at the underside of his cock, tasting the pulsing rhythm, urging his vocal cords to birth more sounds, _more. _Shisui's proclivity for teasing, the huskiness of his voice, incited those sensations, birthed the urge to hear him say her _name_ in that voice – and Shisui must have known.

"I like this decisive side of you." A grin was etched on his lips, sharper than his usual grins, tempting, but nothing compared to that hue in his voice – roughness, thick with impulsion, how a man should speak a woman's name, and when he did –

"Sakura."

Sakura felt the stirrings of something visceral, untamed, blood heat and the demand of a woman's pride. Tongue wetting and coiling, one hand snaking up and down the length of his cock; she slid the other across abdominal muscles, flexing, slick with sweat, low and lower, nails scraping against his hipbones. His hand brushed by a few locks falling in her face, fingers slicking them back, curling and sinking into the wet mass, but it was a light touch, light pressure, not pushing her forward, merely stimulation. Soft lips closed around him, sucking gently, and there was that sound she craved, more grunt than hiss now, guttural and from deep within his chest. Sakura stroked him as he watched, slim, dexterous fingers, firm grasp, tongue circling the tip of his erection, pressing against the slit, gathering the proof of his want. She lapped at the salt and heat of it, potent, sultry with arousal, drenching her tongue – and Shisui chuckled at the purr that followed her action, but it was strained, rough with wild impulses, pulsations under strung skin.

"Okay." He slipped out of her hold smoothly, took a step back and away from that glint in her eyes. "No more of that for you."

A sound fell off the seam of her lips, growl-like and full of that demand. It only made his chuckle grow into laughter, smokier, tease composed into sound.

"Not until you ask for it nicely."

"You mean –" Sakura gazed at him under her lashes, emboldened and tongue out of control, gliding across her upper lip, his taste ingrained on her palate.

"Please let me have your cock?"

Something flashed in his eyes, spiraled into his grin, masculine and raw, a little less restrained.

"I'm sorry, was that a question?"

It came out teasing but she could tell he was serious, wasn't playing games this time. A lash of urgency licked her spine, wetness seethed and flowed in that cleft between her thighs, like blood in swollen veins. Shisui would give her what she wanted but she wanted it _now_.

"Shisui…" Sibilance, feral and dripping with voracity. Sakura lifted herself up, stalked and inched toward him, lithe, feline movement. Shisui merely watched her, that grin turning into a smirk, spurring her on, but when she pounced on him, linked her arms around his neck and rubbed herself all over him, he moved – hands smoothing up her thighs, grasping her hips and molding her to his body.

"_Sassy_." He smeared that word on her lips, edgier, raspier, teeth nibbling, reddening the pink flesh, and she gasped, tightened her arms. His tongue laved the bite marks once, plunged inside, tangled and clashed with hers. He clasped her buttocks, squeezed with just the right amount of pressure, and ground against her once. Sakura moaned into his mouth, gave a light yelp when Shisui lifted her up, nipples stiff and scraping on his skin, nails raking his shoulder blades at the sudden action. Elbows and knees and ankles twisted, bent and interlocked around him. His tongue left hers, carved a hot trail across her cheekbone, sucking and nipping at that sensitive spot behind her ear.

"But you had enough of that." One swirl of tongue and chuckle, lathering shivers along her skin.

Shisui maneuvered to take something out of his pants, and he was walking out of the bathroom as if she weighted nothing. Sakura had to admit she more than liked that. It was empowering and arousing to be coiled around a man who was confident enough to let her play with him but knew when to take charge. Her back touched her mattress, glided against her cotton sheets as he pushed her down, rising on his elbows to stare into her eyes, craving and waiting and dark with lust.

"There are many ways we could do this." Flesh slithered sinuously, one twist of hips, slow thrust against soaking heat and raw nerves. "This one."

She writhed beneath him, nails welting his forearms and spine arced – but then she was being flipped over on hands and knees, another thrust, languid glide of skin on skin, gasping and moaning and clawing at her sheets.

"Or this."

Her hips swiveled, pressed back against him, seeking more of that sinful friction, only to find herself atop him, straddling his waist and palms flattened on his sternum, being pushed lower, one last thrust, flesh slicker and madder with desire and impatience.

"And this."

Sakura panted for breath, chest falling and rising, sweat trickling down the hollows of her body, neck rolling back and hissing at that pulse of hotness at the juncture of her hips and thighs. When she sought his eyes again, bemusement touched her forehead, laced with frustration. A tempest brewed under skin sensitized and teased to aching sensations. What kind of choice was that? Were all Uchiha naturally prone to sadism and sexual torture? Her thoughts must have been written on the beads of sweat clinging in the angles of her face, with bold, angry letters, because Shisui chuckled, clasped her thighs tighter.

"What's with that cute frown?"

Sakura would have glared at him had his hands not traveled up her sides to cup and stroke her breasts, nipples flicked and rubbed and captive between his fingers.

"I'm just giving you the choice of which is going to be first."

A huff worked its way out of her throat, layered with need, transformed into moan half-way through.

"Don't…tease me."

But she couldn't handle another shift in positions. Her pelvis slid against him, decided for her, and his expression adopted other qualities – bright gleam of eyes, grin sharp-edged, deep groan.

"Ah. Good choice."

With maddening languor, Shisui removed his hands from her breasts, drew them back and crossed them behind his head, contraction of lean muscles and satisfaction – and Sakura knew he wouldn't move much at this point, had all but relinquished control and lain back to enjoy the show. It should have sparked her temper but instead inflamed her, made her want to tether all this raw bellicosity spread beneath her thighs. Mouth curled insidiously, she reached for that pack of condoms he'd dropped on the bed and ripped the covering. Perhaps she should tease him back a little, perhaps she should wrap it slowly, inch by inch. It was quite delicate and easy to tear and she hadn't much experience with handling this part – and so she did. Tremors were rippling over his abdomen by the time she finished, laughter and restriction and she swore she heard a grunt of _good_ _job_ – but all melted in a rough exhalation of pleasure, sinking deep, and deeper, tightness and slick heat and the stretch of skin and tissue.

Teeth clamped down on her lip, abused and bled the soft flesh, but it was almost too much for her – nerves ravished raw, flux of sensation, fullness and spasms inside. Sakura stilled, relished the flex of muscles, the pulse of hard flesh and constriction – and then she moved, one experimental gyration, hissing past clenched teeth. Her eyes fell down on him, noticed how he was watching her, lines strained around his eyes and mouth, waiting and observing quietly. Fire sizzled low and within, spilled and coiled around him, dripping moisture and saturation. It made him feel hotter, harder, and she moaned above him, eyes closing and hips moving again, rising and falling with an irregular rhythm – but it was not nearly enough. _Something_ wasn't right. Sakura wasn't doing it right – she didn't know _how_.

"Shisui –" Her voice echoed – broken moan, urge-ridden, plea of demand. "I – I need…"

"Yeah." He more groaned than spoke. "I'd have told you that despite this being a good choice –" His voice regressed to something gravelly and beguiling. "It isn't optimal for first timers."

Pure throat sound, amalgam of pain and pleasure. Sakura stared down at him, eyes glazed and skin flushed, swallowed another moan when he shifted beneath her. Heat of reaction.

"Lucky for you –" Slow withdrawal. Slow rapture. Sakura tensed, muscles throbbing, trying to keep him inside vainly. Even this motion felt _so_ _good_ when he did it. A protest formed on the tip of her tongue, clawed to be released, but it was soon forgotten, buried under the wetness of his tongue dragging across the line of her spine. Sakura shivered, allowed to be placed on hands and knees again, anticipated that one thrust, that glide of hot flesh – but he was done with foreplay and there was no need.

"I know how to do _this_." Deeper angle. Tighter clasp. "You'll get back on top later."

There was something so deliciously wrong with this, the right kind of wrong, that she could only moan and thrash and fall to her elbows, push back against the grinding of his pelvis – more friction, more stretching, more of his cock. _More_.

"What was that?"

Shisui chuckled but it was too rough to be a chuckle. Sakura must have spoken that word aloud in her frenzy, mid-thrust and in the haze of lust that she could now only repeat it.

"More…" she all but gasped, head hung low between her shoulders, almost touching the mattress.

He gripped her thighs, slowed his pace, leisure and painstaking.

"I didn't quite catch that."

Wisps of satisfaction slinked into his voice, heavy with exertion and holding back.

"Gods…" Hunting for that high was becoming more and more of a torture session. Sakura cursed him under her breath, screamed what he wanted to hear. "Harder!" Her voice ruptured from the strain, crawled out of her throat in a hoarse cry. "_Please_."

"Oh. That's what you meant."

Such satiety, such teasing, his tone carried, that her knuckles curled, fists clenching around her sheets, lungs burning with each draw of breath.

"You see –" He was close, closer with each word, body bending and sliding over hers, steel stretched under skin, arms planting on either side of her head, and huskiness titillating her ear.

"_More_ can be many things."

A surging of hips. A choked gasp.

"Harder."

A twisting of angle. A strangled moan.

"Deeper."

A rushing of motion. A sharp cry.

"Faster."

Sakura surrendered to _more_ and the tongue lapping up the arc of her neck and the cock thrusting in and out of her with a whimper – and Shisui chuckled with approval, giving her all that and _more_.

* * *

><p>Sakura lay on her back, panting softly, perspiration licking her skin, satiation nestling between her thighs. <em>Sex is good<em>. She chuckled, bit her lip, sought the attention of the man stretched out beside her with a hand on his collarbone, lazy strokes of fingers and nails. Green eyes peeked through matted locks, hungry glint and wonder.

"Don't give me that look." Shisui chuckled with her but it was spent and amused. "You can't have it again so soon no matter how nicely you ask."

"I knew that." Sakura gave him a mock-huff, sultry lips and eyes, desire growing and cresting and spilling inside. "But I still want it."

"How about some tongue?" She was being dragged over his shoulders before she even felt his clutch on her waist, thighs spreading and hands grabbing her bedpost. "Fingers are also nice."

_Ah_. His tongue was too slithery and hot and rough for its own good. She threw her neck back, moaned in rhythm with each lick, reached an arm behind her, fingers snaking down his abdomen, wanting _more_.

"Cock is nicer."

"Now you're just being greedy."


	12. Chapter 12

Something was ringing and blaring and grazing her eardrums. Sakura stirred, languor and soft moan. _Alarm clock…what time –_

"Oh hell. Ramen…"

"That is a very unique way of saying _good morning_."

Her lids flew open. Sakura knew that voice – arousing and teasing and _man_. Shisui must have spent the night after exhaustion had overcome lust and she had fallen asleep. Her tongue wet her dry lips, and she turned on her side, pleasure under the thickness of her lashes.

"Good morning."

She smiled but it was heavy with awareness, sharp with tension. Her voice drew from that slick pulse between her thighs, dripping low and hot. How he chuckled, hunger in the sound, impish glint and flexing muscles, warned her she was about to be dragged under him and ravished. It was more than tempting, but breakfast plans thwarted such temptations.

"I need to meet Naruto and your cousin for breakfast."

Sakura was already out of bed and opening her closet while she yet spoke.

"Wouldn't you rather have my cock?"

It might have sounded like a question but all she heard was assertion. Neck slanted, she gave him a sideways glance, slow and drawn-out and feasting on naked skin and open grin and offer.

"Yes, I would." Teeth sank into her lip, pink flesh yielding, shaping into a sassy smirk. "But I really can't."

She turned back to her task, but she could feel his eyes gliding over the slope of her spine, her buttocks, down the length of her legs. Heat lapped at her skin, made that pulse slicker, harder to eschew. She shivered, cleared her throat, suddenly self-conscious of nudity and the implications living within it.

"What?"

"You look better naked."

A chuckle made its way out of her lips but her voice was sure when she spoke. Sakura really didn't have time for another round – no matter how delectable the man looked, spread out on her bed, eager, wanting, wanton.

"No."

"Especially that –"

She hissed in the midst of another chuckle, drowning out the rather obscene compliment.

"Shisui!"

"It's true, you know."

He sounded utterly unrepentant, too pleased with himself and what he saw. Sakura could even hear the grin in his voice, imagine it on his lips, enticing her to map it out with her tongue. A growl of frustration escaped her throat, more directed at her cursed lack of time than Shisui's playful tendencies.

"It's still a _no_."

"What happened to the woman begging for it last night? I liked her."

His laughter was amused and naughty and a little bit teasing. Sakura turned around, clothes draped over her forearm, but his mood was infectious, made her want to play with him, if only with words. Arced brow and half-smirk, she took the challenge.

"She'll beg for it another time. How's that?"

She watched as Shisui unfurled himself from the bed, sleekness and confidence and wicked grin. In two steps he had her pressed against him, one hand low on her waist, dipping lower, squeezing a curve of firm flesh, tongue licking across her cheekbone and voice stroking her ear.

"That's a promise."

He left her with a light pinch and a feminine yelp, stretched his arms and headed for her shower. It was Sakura's eyes that now slid over broad shoulders and hard contours and –

"You sure you don't want it? 'Cause you look like –"

Even as she huffed, Sakura laughed, shooed him away.

"Go away!"

* * *

><p>A nimbus of smoke slithered out of Itachi's lips, dissolving into breath. Shisui should have returned by now, yet there was no sign of his cousin's chakra in the vicinity. Unwise decision but unavoidable. Tsunade's canny hints had swayed Itachi's judgment, had allowed for this to happen. Sakura's obsession with the rules was another miscalculation on Itachi's part. If he had been more focused, more tuned to Sakura's predilection when it came to such matters, Itachi would have seen it, but he had been intrigued. It was so facile, so inanely simple, that it had slipped past his notice until Tsunade had brought it to his attention. But Itachi had no need for blind obedience, for foot soldiers; he wanted cogent obedience, elite soldiers. A shinobi who followed the rules to the edge of insanity, ripping emotion from action without cognizance, would become <em>ANBU<em> but never _Captain_. Itachi needed her to fathom this no matter the means he used to achieve it. That little test had served its purpose well, so damn well that it was laughable. Down to the last detail. Itachi might have accounted for that last detail being Shisui, yet he would have rather it been anyone else but his cousin.

Sakura was more alike him than he would have ever deemed possible, only she did not know it yet, couldn't see it as Itachi could, as Kakashi had. Shrewd – woman, intention, means. How long would it take her to realize this? How deep would she delve once she did?

A chuckle flowed into the air, ringlet of amusement, pother of intrigue. She was like the smoke he exhaled, spiraling and splitting and branching into path lines, possibilities, each one unique but all insidious. To tangle herself with him, she cared not for lost things, wrong or right, not even _rules_. For that, if nothing else, she fed and nourished intrigue, morphed it into something else – meshed together, they forged another _urge_, its meaning unnamed, unknown. His mind stroked it, brushed against it, seeking an answer, but it stayed quiet, elusive, as if to mock him with its birth.

What did it say for a woman reigned by rule and decree to override instinct for a man when she had done so for nothing else before? Itachi knew lust in all its facets, but this wasn't merely that. That girl, now _woman_, had bent and folded and twisted herself inside out, had discarded shield and safety net in her pursuit of him. She had clung to the rules so foolishly, warped mentality, deceived her mind to do things above her capacity, yet none of that mattered when it came to him. That she had chosen Shisui, that she had broken the rules, when she had not dared break them even once…

Shisui was nothing but the physical manifestation of rule – and she had touched him. It could have been Sasuke or Naruto and it would have been the same. Itachi had made sure she was aware of _everything_ – and yet, she had violated both rule and herself. The notion intrigued him, more than that even, could no longer remain a velleity.

_Foolish_ _woman_. Hadn't she broken and been broken enough by now? It was too quick, even by Itachi's standards, to push and sink oneself deeper than that, to crave things not meant to be craved. The more she swallowed, the tighter she entangled, the less rules held dominion over her, the easier it was to become something she was not ready to be. Itachi wanted to take his time with her – time to teach and mold and perfect – but she was precipitating change in a manner unhealthy, ill-advised. Sakura was provoking things best unstirred, and Itachi was strangely roused by the stirrings, more than he should be, enough to not make her cease or slow down.

Shisui's chakra pulsed with the first dark of the morning, and Itachi found himself chuckling softly. _Dawn… Shisui, you always give too much._ Grinning eyes and satisfaction stared down at Itachi, waiting almost impatiently, but Itachi only gave him an observation.

"You stayed the night."

Shisui plopped himself down on Itachi's futon, stretched with lazy motions.

"I had fun – so did she."

When Itachi chose to give him nothing more, merely gazed out in the garden, at the morning glow reflecting on the leaves, as if Shisui wasn't even in the room, his cousin exhaled a deep sigh, sat upright.

"How about we stop playing games?" One tilt of Itachi's neck. One flash of Shisui's grin. "If you tell me the real reason you don't want me spending nights in her bedroom then I might consider it."

Itachi, too, considered it, but Sakura wasn't the only one to play with his rules, to guarantee a little game of truth and omission. If Shisui wanted answers then he would have to extract them himself this time. Itachi was done indulging his cousin's whims for one day.

"You are not a good influence."

If the quirk in Shisui's grin was any indication, his cousin hadn't grasped the hint Itachi slipped in that sentence. Shisui's words more than confirmed that.

"She was going to fuck someone sooner or later – you made sure of that. Does it really matter it was me?"

"It matters that you are related to me."

Another hint. Another quirk.

"Are you afraid I might spill your dirty, little secrets? Or that she will want to fuck you even more after trying out an Uchiha?"

However amusing this game was, Itachi reckoned it was time for less subtleness if he were to get some decent sleep soon. His gaze ebonized, sharpened.

"Are you going to mess with my rules?"

Laughter disrupted the calm, husky and a little taunting.

"Isn't it a little late for that?"

Shisui caught part of the hint, reached his own conclusion, but it was a depthless glimpse, a ripple close to the surface.

"Why don't we cut the bullshit? Rules or no rules, if you didn't care, you'd have fucked her yesterday. Wasn't letting me go your consideration?"

Indeed. That part had been Itachi's consideration, but as Shisui so eloquently put it, what came before that was bullshit. Itachi's lips curled for a lick of smirk, cruel pleasure.

"Is that how you see it?"

Shisui's grin faltered but he shrugged it off, insisted on his assumptions with a conviction that curled Itachi's lips more, arched them higher.

"That's how it is."

"No." Truth. Cruelty. Pleasure. "That is only half right and half the answer."

"I see." How Shisui's eyes narrowed, the way his grin rigidified, revealed he had finally realized he was being played, if only that.

"I guess that's my punishment for screwing her."

Itachi neither affirmed nor denied it but he didn't have to. Shisui shook his head, laughed a dry laughter.

"I love you, Itachi. But sometimes…you're too much of an asshole to love you."

* * *

><p>Sakura was surprised to find Sasuke perched on a stool when she arrived at Ichiraku's, but nothing could have prepared her for his way of greeting.<p>

"Should I ask what you did _with_ my cousin this time?"

Pure sarcasm slathered on moving lips. No curiosity, no doubt. Sakura stiffened for a sliver of a second, but it was useless to feign ignorance, nor did she want to. Sasuke _knew_ – she could see it in that twist of his mouth, the glare of onyx in his eyes, and she didn't appreciate it. They've already had this conversation once. What did he hope to gain by instigating it again? A curl of wariness wrapped around her mind, cautioned her to be adroit with her wording.

"Depends." A thin brow rose casually. "Why do you want to know?"

His mouth twitched as if he had bitten into something unpleasant, and Sakura's brow rose higher. This wasn't a good sign for either side.

"First my brother, now my cousin. Who's next? My father?" His voice cut deep, his eyes deeper. "What is this, Sakura?"

She froze, all moisture drying in her mouth. _Did he just –?_ A bolt of thunder pierced through her, charred bones and licked nerves, sparked wrath and indignation. Ear-splitting. Electrifying.

"You think I'm trying to…get back at you for rejecting me – or something equally stupid?"

It was barely above a whisper, disbelief riding on low frequencies. Sasuke appraised her slowly, closely. When he spoke again, sarcasm had ceded to curiosity, to doubt – but it was still there, not yet fully eclipsed.

"I don't know. You tell me."

"I can't believe this…"

No matter how hard she tried to coil and sprain and knead it into something other than what it was, Sakura just couldn't. She was shaking with little zaps of aftershock, nails sinking into the soft part of her palms. Even if Sasuke regretted his words later, it was too damn late – to pretend he hadn't spoken them and she hadn't heard him. What rankled most was how selfish he was and how selfish he made her to be with nothing but assumption. Weren't they _finally_ past that? Sakura had moved on, had moved away from him. What more did he want, did he need from her? Why must she excuse herself for loving _and_ falling out of love with him? She had given him six years of her life, filled with longing, insurmountable attention, and liters of tears. But no more.

"Sasuke." Sakura sought his eyes. Unblinking. Unflinching. "I've loved you for many years, but I can't love you like that anymore. I still love you, but I just can't…"

Perhaps it was the harshness of her voice that made her words all the softer, bloodless and painful and shimmery like specters of a past not properly buried and mourned. Her lashes fluttered once, those wraiths touched her tongue, haunted her voice. A little wetness. A little strain.

"What do you want from me?"

His features hardened, his lips thinned, but whatever he was about to say was stomped under the drone of loud steps and the holler of Naruto's voice.

"Good morning!"

Sakura let out the breath she had been holding, plastered a smile on her face.

"Morning, Naruto." It almost bloomed into a genuine smile when she saw no shadow of nightmare in his eyes, only clear, warm blue. "You look better."

"Yeah, I feel fine." Naruto's smile was brighter than his eyes. His gaze shifted between his teammates, back and forth, worry slinking into that blue.

"But you don't look so well, Sakura-chan." Pause. More worry. "Temee…you look even worse."

Sakura sighed softly. Sasuke grunted heavily.

"We're fine, idiot. Just sit down, so we can eat."

After that cantankerous line, Sasuke's speech pattern regressed to wordless enunciations of _hn_ for the duration of breakfast. Sakura listened to Naruto's blithe exclamations about this and that and ramen, nodded and smiled and added a comment whenever he paused for a mouthful of noodles, then excused herself to head for the Hokage tower. She mustn't have been as carefree as she reckoned though if Naruto deemed it necessary to give her a tight, warm embrace before she left. Physical contact was Naruto's way of saying _I'm here for you_ since he couldn't quite put it into words with the same impact.

Her steps were listless, dawdling on the dust-specked street of Konoha's main market. Sakura had walked the distance between Ichiraku's and the Hokage tower more times than she could count that she didn't need to pay attention to where she was going. Her feet would take her there even blindfolded. Something was pressing on her optical nerves, made her eyes sting and blur out of focus, her brain weigh heavy and scraping against the bones of her cranium. It wasn't guilt or regret or shame – Sakura was drifting above and beyond those things. They were bodiless tethers, decrepit restraints for the girl she used to be but not the woman she had ripened into. Sasuke wouldn't impose them on her as a nostrum for his bruised ego or whatever it was that he was feeling. If Sakura had to name this gnawing sensation, she'd merely call it sadness – for things that had come to an end long overdue. But that didn't mean it hurt any less for the woman than it would have for that girl.

* * *

><p>It was Sakura's fault when she collided with something outside the door of Tsunade's office – because she was distracted and morose and a little out of it. But that <em>something<em> was rough and warm and attached to a sinewy arm around her waist, swift like a spring uncoiling and just as hard. Sakura didn't need to stare up to know it was Kakashi who had spared her from an awkward and embarrassing fall – she could smell that it was he. Crisp scent of ozone, salty notes of ink and skin, something that was purely _Kakashi_.

"Yo, Sakura."

Nothing but his usual greeting, yet somehow it was different, more intimate, closer. Sakura breathed his name, whispery and slick.

"Kakashi." Her eyes trailed along the line of his arm, fabric pulled taut over bulging muscle. Sakura couldn't recall the reason for her earlier distraction but this was distracting her in another manner – a flicker of heat, a flush of skin. She swallowed thickly, slipped out of his hold with as much grace as she could muster under the circumstances. When she raised her gaze to his level, Kakashi was staring down at her with a mixture of mirth and intensity.

Sakura vied to chirp something intelligent and light, to create a distraction of another kind.

"Are you coming or going?"

A groan thrummed inside her chest at the unintelligence of her question. The fact that she had bumped into him on her way in was answer enough, Kakashi's chuckle more than telling.

"Just received a mission. D-rank, mind you."

Kakashi was infinitely more versed than Sakura in making light conversation.

"Oh that's right. You're in charge of genin again."

Sakura followed his lead, lips upturned into an easy smile. In all fairness, Kakashi made it too easy to hand him the reins. Perhaps it was the aloof vibes he exuded, or that amalgam of maturity and enigma, or that he was a cluster of testosterone and command. Sakura couldn't tell what it was, but she didn't much care either. It would be dangerous to care for that answer, and she was already submerged into deep waters with Itachi.

"Aren't you glad to be taking it easy for a while?"

"Nah." Languid motion, throaty chuckle. "I'm too old to be chasing kittens."

There was an inflexion in his voice, allusion to things far less innocent, deliberate and writhing with decadence. Sakura shouldn't have taken that bait – but she couldn't not take it.

"Don't they naturally come to an old dog?"

A slow grin spread beneath his mask, implied it was the right thing to say, and for the first time Sakura's motives for wanting to rip that mask off his face were nefarious, full of lips and tongue and teeth. His chuckle was stripped of humor, naked sound, like raw honey. It bolstered those reasons, made them more nefarious.

"Someone is learning new tricks."

She didn't even need to think to analyze that sentence. It was blatant, brought all the things she had done last night to the surface, thick and sultry and demanding.

"If you're done flirting, get your ass in here, girl!"

Tsunade's bark jarred the tightrope under her feet, threw her off balance and onto the ground. Sakura winced at the hard landing. It seemed she was destined to fall today one way or another. She smiled at Kakashi, though it was not easy this time, and hurried inside with warring feelings of gratitude and miff.

Cunningness congealed into gold syrup and a red-lipped smirk welcomed her. Sakura held no doubt her shishō had done that on purpose, had more than enjoyed it. A little sullen, marginally amused, Sakura mirrored her smirk, felt compelled to fling a bold-faced excuse even she wouldn't believe just for the hell of it.

"I wasn't exactly flirting."

Tsunade's eyes shone with an impious glow, her smirk crooked wryly.

"What were you doing then? Exchanging dog training advice?"

Sakura seated herself behind her desk, hummed with complacency.

"Kakashi's just teasing me lately, so I teased him back a little. Is that bad?"

"Depends on how far you're planning to take it."

Tsunade grinned at her disciple. Sakura grinned back.

"Depends on how far he's willing to take it."

It wasn't a lie but not entirely honest either. Sakura was still familiarizing herself with the rules of this game, was aware that what had occurred with Shisui was a no strings attached kind of thing, but she guessed it wouldn't be proper etiquette to indulge in more than one man, even if said men were to pose no objection. Sex could be labeled and bound under many things depending on the driving need behind it, but there were restrictions – and being loose for empty fulfillment was neither an appealing label to Sakura nor a boundary she wanted to cross.

"Heh." It was accentuated with slyness, old wiles distilled into sound. "You did learn some new tricks. Who taught you?"

"Shisui."

Sakura licked her lips, glossed them with memory not soon forgotten, and Tsunade snickered.

"That explains it. Was the rumor true?"

It came out offhanded and in the spur of the moment, but Sakura could tell it was more calculated than spontaneous. Her shishō was as much intrigued by knowing the answer as she was for Sakura's reaction to the alleged rumor. Sakura could simply ignore it, but Tsunade couldn't be deterred, would surely bring it up later with a sneak attack Sakura could do without. Hence, she gave in and danced to her shishō's tune.

"What rumor?"

A blond brow rose pointedly, if a bit mockingly.

"You still haven't talked to Anko?"

"No." Sway of red-pale hair. Thin-stretched smile. "And I'm not planning to, so just ask whatever it is you want to know."

Her sharp mien slashed through Tsunade's prevarication.

"To quote her –" Charged pause. Slier glow, ungodly. "Shisui gives too many orgasms and Itachi none, so it's best to have them as a pair."

That _none_ tore into her like a starved carnivore, hot-crossed fangs and cusp-tipped claws. It was too much. Orgasm denial was one thing…but _this_ –

"_None_?"

"None."

Tsunade was as pitiless as Sakura was pitiful. Her voice emerged from the hollows of her throat, stressed and brittle and oddly resigned.

"I guess the rumors are true then."

Her master's consolation method consisted of a snort and a phlegmatic remark.

"Don't pity yourself just yet. Not when you can't even get him to your bed."

It ignited a flare of Sakura's temper, mended her torn flesh. She glowered, thanked Tsunade for her controversial encouragement, if she could even call it that.

"Thanks, shishō. That really cheered me up."

Another loud snort. Another splenetic comment.

"From what you told me, you had enough orgasms to last you for a week. You don't need any cheering up. Now get to work."

_Ah_. It made sense in a convoluted, spiteful manner now.

"Shishō." Sakura could barely conceal her vicious glee from showing – in her voice, smirk, gaze, everything. "You should get laid."

"Why thank you, Sakura. I'll put it on my schedule between drafting the new treaty with Kumo and planning the Chūnin Exam."

Tsunade's expression was most certainly not one of gratitude, and Sakura had to bite her lip not to laugh. She took advantage of the news in Tsunade's words to smother that imprudent urge.

"It's that time again? Where's it taking place this year?"

"Suna." Anticipation boiled beneath the ire, foretold trouble. "Speaking of which, that's your new mission. Your ANBU team is in charge of escorting and protecting me while we're there. Do your best to prevent any assassination attempts on my life _before_ I drink myself to death. A chance to let loose like that rarely comes and I plan to enjoy myself to the fullest."

Tsunade's good mood was back just like that, and Sakura could only sigh.

"I shall try my utmost best."


	13. Chapter 13

Itachi studied Tsunade's demeanor. Her facial bones were high and cut sharply, her eyes rimmed with gold edge, her lips red-thinned. The Godaime was atypically somber – and sober – radiated the intensity of her stone-carved statue.

"I received two scrolls from Suna today. One regards to the Chūnin Exams and the other…had a red seal."

_Red seal._ She needn't have said more. Missives sealed with that jutsu could only be read by shinobi whose chakra they were designed to respond to. All Kage used that technique for when they wished to relay private messages, dealings off the record and under the table. Itachi knew what it was about the moment Tsunade spoke those two words.

"Unofficial then."

There was no need for elaboration on his part either. Tsunade made a sound, snappy and humorless, more like a baring of teeth.

"The Kazekage is young but no fool. He knows he's surrounded by a nest of scorpions."

No matter the truth of that statement, and despite Tsunade's impartiality when it came to promising youth, Itachi felt obligated to state the obvious, in case she entertained other ideas.

"Suna's internal affairs shouldn't be our concern."

Rows of white teeth clenched in full display now. Tsunade fully snapped, banged her fist against her desk, decimating another piece of furniture in the Hokage tower – the fifth this week.

"Bah. Those damn elders make it our concern when their plans involve Konoha. War relics, the whole lot of them. Bad soil for the young seedlings."

Itachi recognized the concealed reference, sampled her disrelish on his clan's behalf, on her advisors, on Danzō – and gave if not agreement, at the very least forbearance.

"Grudges are not erased easily, if ever."

Her features twisted into something harsher, colder than stone.

"They shouldn't outlive their originators. This is a new era…"

If Itachi hadn't known her better, he'd believe she was contemplating the merits of permanent solutions for the removal of such obstacles. As it was, Tsunade would discard any such inkling after a few bottles of sake.

"How will you handle it?"

It was but a question, uttered flatly, yet steeped in all the things Tsunade would rather not contemplate. She glared at Itachi under her lashes, gaze chiding for temping her ever so slightly.

"The Kazekage lowered his head and admitted he can't offer void promises. It would be immature of me to act as if this is no concern of ours after the kid did all that. Don't compare me to that old tanuki Ōnoki."

Rather weak reasoning – or more likely used by the weak – but Tsunade would be satisfied with even the merest excuse if it would circumvent protocol, Itachi was well aware. She _wanted_ to support the Kazekage in his baby steps, and there was nothing Itachi could do to change her mind.

"I see." One curt nod, and he was complying. If this was how she wanted to handle things then Itachi would handle them for her – as he always did. It didn't mean she was above complying with his plan of action once the decision was made, though. That was nonnegotiable and she knew it.

"Sasuke and Naruto will be your escorts. There should be no attempts on your way to Suna since you will be traveling with genin and their designated Jōnin, but just in case there are, do not stray from the path."

His stare bore the cutting sheen of black steel. Her lips puckered, the shade of red apple peel.

"Only teahouses are on the way. If there was an izakaya, I could have been tempted, but seeing as there isn't…"

It was more petulant than anything. A huff made its way out of those pursed lips, soon turned into a hum.

"Does that mean you chose to take Sakura?"

There were hints of intrigue in her tone, maybe even smugness, but Itachi guessed they would transform into distaste, maybe even sourness, when he shared the reasons for his choice.

"She is the one with the required skillset."

Her eyes became thin slits, her voice bladed mockery.

"You mean cleavage."

"If you have other recommendations…"

His words might have been taken as lithium by another person, but in Tsunade's case, they sharpened her blade of a tongue.

"I assigned _your_ team, so she'll have to do. But you better teach her _right_ this time."

Itachi bowed his head, received the order – but what she commanded was far worse than what he would have done if left to his judgment.

* * *

><p>Sakura wasn't quite sure what to expect from Itachi after her bold streak of defiance. Twice now she had signed a mission with a <em>fuck you<em> in his face – and a message on a wall, despite written in blood, didn't compare with the physical manifestation of it. She had gotten _his_ message the day he had plastered her on the wall across from her and smeared her lust all over it – and she had returned it threefold. Shisui could attest to that, had more than provoked her with every grin and lick and thrust. She shivered, near moaned at the mere memory of fingers and tongue and cock. It was too late to regret them, nor did she want to. Shisui wasn't something a woman regretted – even if Sakura had to break Itachi's implicit rules for him. That night – _she_ burned, she wanted, she needed –

"We'll split into two teams for this mission."

Itachi's voice was a contrast to the silence of his presence, disembodied chill of sound, coiling around her ankles and glaciating as it crept up her body. Sakura raised her eyes to his level, but she wasn't even in his line of vision, much less his attention. Perhaps she had imagined that frost – but the shivers still gripped her, still crawled across her skin – perhaps she wasn't its target, despite instinct screaming she _was_.

"Sasuke." One name, one nod. "Naruto." Another name, another nod. "You are in charge of the Hokage's safety. She needs to be monitored at _all_ times. I don't care how you'll distribute time, but never leave her unattended, especially not while in Suna."

Sakura was informed about their next mission, had shared that knowledge with her teammates, but this was as much news to her as it was to them. She didn't like the connotations in Itachi's orders or his low intonation – this concerned _her_ _shishō_ – and for the first time, it was Sakura who vocalized what all of them thought.

"Is there a threat?"

"Most probably." Itachi still didn't turn toward her, still spoke to the boys. "If there is an attempt, capture but do _not_ kill. We need them alive."

Orders graver, intonation heavier, connotations made explicit – Itachi _was_ staring at her.

"We depart for Suna today."

There was such naturalness, such frost in his voice, condensed into black coal in his eyes, that it numbed the neurons in her brain – but she understood. _This_ was what she should have expected. Itachi was a man who did _not_ like to be defied. The whole affair with Shisui was nothing but a matter of principle for him. It was too casual, so insipid, that it did not even leave the aftertaste of torment – merely heat coated with a thin layer of ice. Sakura could only nod once, force the only word he wanted to hear out of her throat.

"Understood."

* * *

><p>The journey to Suna had been wrapped in a cocoon of silence, suffocating. There had been neither assaults nor sandstorms to delay them, but no conversation either. Sapping, parching. The desert heat had never felt as torrid, but maybe the searing sensation on Sakura's skin was the heat of suspense. The fact that they never revealed their thoughts was an unspoken rule, a twisted game of endurance, but Sakura wondered how long it would take for this brewing silence to rupture – and what would happen when that time came. When they finally reached the hidden village, Itachi signaled for stealth, another game, another challenge – to slip under the watchmen's vigilance, trespass into the Kazekage's office undetected. The silvery hue of the Kazekage's eyes was too pale, bright gleam of mania vanquished – yet lingering – full of things that murmured visceral urges, when he tilted his neck to gaze at them. His profile was the very essence of dispassion, but Sakura could detect traces of interest under layers of deathly calm.<p>

"Impressive."

Soft tenor, lyrical undertones, whisper of voice. The muscles in his face didn't even twitch, his lips barely parted. Itachi inclined his head, barest courtesy of respect, and Sakura followed suit.

"Kazekage-sama."

"The Hokage didn't send word due to communications being unreliable, but I expected you would come."

It was the subtlest of hints, that their infiltration wasn't as smooth as Sakura believed it to have been. Itachi seemed to know that if the way his chin dipped at a lower angle was any indication. Genuine respect, not mere courtesy this time. She bit her lip beneath her mask. How daft of her to think they could fool the Kazekage of all people, the man who made the sand slither and writhe in a terrible snake dance, beguiling. Pale-gold grains swirled on cue, congregated and dispersed, and in their midst stood a tall shinobi with austere poise.

"This is Baki, my most trusted advisor. He will act on my behalf."

The Kazekage vanished in another swirl, an echo of voice and sand. Baki cleared his throat, seeming tense, almost disapproving of their presence. He was courteous when he spoke, if a bit rough around the edges, the polite side of hostility.

"I apologize but any future dealings will be processed through me. None of this can be linked back to the Kazekage."

"Naturally."

If Sakura strained her ears, she could hear the dry notes in Itachi's voice, drier than the grit of sand. She was not cogent of the protocol for such occasions, but judging by her captain's and the advisor's exchange it was two thirds of dissimulation and one third of sincerity.

"I thank you for the cooperation. I will prepare identifications if you remove your masks. It will allow you to come and go as you please in the village."

Sakura removed her mask only after Itachi obliged Baki's request, and only for a moment, but it appeared to have been enough for the Suna advisor. Something told her it was more for the sake of precaution, identification in case things went awry, than the reason he gave. Baki nodded then passed Itachi a sealed scroll – a _red_ _seal_, she noticed. The Kazekage must have prepared it while they were infiltrating the village, and sealed it once they were in the room after memorizing their chakra patterns. Sakura felt even dafter now to have underestimated him.

"Not all council advisors are involved in this scheme. These are the profiles and what we know of the suspects, but we have no proof."

"And your suspicions?"

"The same as yours."

There was guile in both question and answer, sizzling beneath the surface. It was tangible, welted her skin, like a whip being flung back and forth.

"You called us here to do your dirty work, yet you are not very candid."

Sakura was certain that this stretched the string of diplomacy a little too thin, and though she couldn't fathom Itachi's motives for doing so, it was not her place to talk when she couldn't even infer mere reasoning.

"I assumed Hokage-sama sent you because of that."

Baki's reply matched Itachi's in pungency, thick insinuation of ploys hidden to Sakura. The static of antagonism electrified the space between them for the merest of moments – before it quieted down with a wry chuckle.

"Indeed."

Her gaze darted between the two shinobi, searching for a sliver of that spark – and she found it in Baki's next words.

"We are trusting you with very delicate information."

It was a warning, could be nothing less, blunt to the point where Sakura held no doubt about it.

"That was your choice." The air crackled with remnants of aggression, but it was ebbed, more noise than sting. "Wise choice."

"I'll expect reports."

* * *

><p>Sakura waited quietly while Itachi unsealed the scroll and examined its contents. The lodging prepared for their use was a spherical construction made of clay and substances resistant to the desert's climate, quite spacious and not claustrophobic despite its anomalous shape. The Chūnin Exams were to take place in ten days which meant Tsunade wouldn't depart from Konoha for at least a week yet. Plenty of time to complete a mission – if only she <em>knew<em> the specifics of said mission. As if summoned, the scroll landed on her lap then, but Sakura still waited for Itachi to give her permission to read it.

"Read the files then give me your estimation."

A mute nod, and she was reading. The scroll only contained names, but it was made to react to chakra and reveal information regarding each person whose name was inscribed within. It made perfect sense when being served up on a plate like this. Elders of the Suna Council retained bitterness over the last war – it was a known fact – but combined with the abrupt loss of power, and being subservient to a shinobi they considered nothing more than an integral threat but a few years ago, their sentiments had boiled and frothed and mutated into scorpion venom. Assassinating the shrewd Hokage, falsely incriminating the untamed Kazekage, immolating him as collateral for a peace treaty when Konoha clangored for retribution… _Madness_. They had nurtured such potent poison for so many years that it had corroded the thin membrane keeping it contained, infected their blood and cells, perforated their stomachs and rotted their guts. Her features scrunched up in disgust, as if she could smell the mephitic vapors by merely reading through the poison. Sakura took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then she was speaking.

"Jōseki-sama seems to hold the most power and motives amongst the suspects, but it's not easy to find proof of his machinations. He has connections and is deeply involved in the village."

A half-smirk etched itself on one corner of Itachi's lips, pleasure corrupted – and amusement. It was eerie, more than a little daunting, even awe-inducing – only Itachi could split septicity from venom, luxuriate in its savor absent contagion.

"It is difficult to judge which shinobi side with him and which not. The Kazekage asked for our help because he cannot trust his own ANBU. Leaked information is his biggest concern."

Sakura ruminated on his assessment, a frown wedged between her brows.

"Is that in our mission as well?"

It would sire complications, lengthen their mission – _if_ it was – but Itachi negated such notions, allayed her concerns.

"We are only to find proof. The Kazekage will deal with his own shinobi. If he has valid cause to bring council members to question, the rest is easy."

Itachi was being awfully forthcoming in his answers when he had been riddle enmeshed in riddle during his conversation with Baki. It was too facile for Sakura to unveil what lay underneath now, alarmingly so.

"You were aware of the situation before we received this mission."

It was more complaint than statement. Itachi stretched his neck, cords pulled tight, then exhaled, more of a hum, less than a sigh. Sakura cognized that she had guessed right, but should have delved a little deeper than that.

"We have informants – as we have for Kumo, Kiri, and Iwa. Unless it affects Konoha though, it is merely precaution."

It made even more sense with this addition into the mix of obscure stratagems. Sakura devoured whatever morsels she dragged onto her plate, attempted to piece the shady puzzle, but there was still one piece missing, something she couldn't quite grasp no matter how deep she delved.

"Taichō." Sakura held his gaze, raised her voice. "Why did you bring me on this mission? Sasuke would have been better suited for espionage of this kind."

Concordant with facts, indubitable. Even Itachi couldn't tamper with its truth, not that he even attempted to.

"Sasuke would have been better suited as your partner if I hadn't come, but you were indispensable. I didn't assign him in my stead because he's not familiar with the situation and your relationship seems to be strained. Fix the latter soon. I will not have discordance in my team."

His eyes were indecipherable compared to his words, pools of unfathomable depths. Sakura swallowed thickly, nodded. She didn't even have to ask how he knew.

"Yes, taichō."

He still hadn't solved the mystery of his choice, though. Green eyes peered at him with confusion, light of anticipation, and Itachi gave her what she asked, but not what she wanted.

"I need another genjutsu-type but it has to be a woman."

Wariness dissipated confusion, birthed an answer, but she did not relish its birth. Her eyes clouded over, moss green wilting; her voice lowered an octave, sibilant decline.

"Seduction?"

There was a fulgent gleam in his eyes, black burnished with speculation, close to expectation.

"Not this time. Jōseki's known schedule is included in his information. He visits a high class establishment in Mizubachi once a week, but he doesn't have a designated hostess."

_Ah_. Seduction was superfluous for the seduced, unneeded – but _something_ else, more sinister. Repulsive.

"He's a seasoned shinobi who's earned himself a seat on the council. Paltry tricks won't work in his case."

His eyes weren't depthless – Sakura could see their bottom now. It was strewn with obsidians and tar, serrate and viscid, sundering flesh and fusing the sarcous hunks into a mosaic of blood and tissue. Cimmerian.

"I will give you two choices – either what Shisui taught you or what I will."

Shock distorted the macabre reality her mind had conjured, ripples in abyssopelagic deep. Sakura stared at him owlishly, blurted the first thing that pierced through the dark.

"You mean…sex or –"

"High level genjutsu. It is complex, requires perfect chakra control, affinity for it and compartmentalizing. You should be able to learn it if I have judged your abilities correctly."

Itachi could have toyed with her, could have refrained from giving her an option, could have taunted her with many and odious scenarios – but he had done none of those things. It perplexed her, roused dread and denial, made her regard him with suspicion. Even as she chose the only choice she could accept, the only choice there was, she felt as if she had been manipulated, cleverly guided into that choice.

"Your way."

It was no more than a murmur, almost breathless. Blood flowed faster, seethed hotter in her veins, reddened her lips as she squeezed them shut and waited, anticipated. _Thrill_. It hadn't registered up to that point, but Itachi had praised her, wanted to teach her of his own accord.

"Very well."

A half-smirk etched itself on one corner of his lips again, yet it possessed other qualities, one slant of taunt and gratification, as if he had predicted the sequence of her reactions, had goaded her into them. Sakura was torn between cursing him and kissing him, but there was never such choice.

"Grey matter, central nervous system, the thalamus, limbic system. All this should sound familiar in terms of injecting chakra for the purpose of manipulating sensory perception and memory."

Sakura licked her lips, nodded once. His smirk waned but its qualities waxed; the more they heightened, the more reactions he awoke – excitation, eagerness, vexation, amazement.

"What I meant by compartmentalizing is that you need to perform three different, synchronous processes – delve into old memories, plant new memories, stimulate neurochemicals and hormones released during sex. Each one demands precise control and execution must be seamless."

Calling it complex was an understatement. It transcended that, ventured beyond the bounds of possibility, riveting – like a rare creature, unknown to mortal ken, shown only to the privileged. Sakura had sparsely been counted amongst them, unlike Naruto and Sasuke, but this was _her_ chance, her opportunity. She ingurgitated every word, every component, with bated breath, with swelling pleasure, near orgiastic.

"Understanding the theory is step one. Practicing is step two, but it takes time to master such a high level genjutsu through that method – time we lack. Experiencing becomes step two in this case. I'll cast it on a smaller scale and add another layer to it, allow you to be cogent of the processes while you experience them."

The succession of hand seals was her only warning, too fast to be called even that. Sakura did feel the flux of chakra, slithering and cool scales of energy, delving inside her mind, her body, but sensation overcame flow, slick and pulsing and _felt before_ – naked heat, licks of perspiration, panting and moaning, the stretch of skin and the slapping of flesh. Rhythmic strokes and deep angles, hips surging and withdrawing, knees and hands digging into the mattress, another man, another feel inside –

"Shisui…" Sakura gasped his name, hissed under feelings made physical, too real. Itachi hadn't merely plunged into memory; he had ripped sensation from the viscera of lust and magnified it, made it feel thicker, wetter. Chakra throbbed, swelled, made her raise her eyes, another man, another feel – but not inside.

Itachi was there, neck slanted, as if intrigued by this display, though she couldn't tell what aroused his interest, the act itself or the power over the act – but he began to undress and she consigned thought to oblivion. The shirt fell first, a heap of black fabric on the floor. Her eyes traced the motions of his fingers as he unfastened his pants – nude skin, contoured around muscle and sinew and bone. She moaned, teeth biting into her lip, bleeding instinct and need – and the man behind her chuckled, raw accent of sound, his pace slowing, thrust by thrust, a languorous tease. Fire spread and lapped from the inside out, muscles clenching, tense contractions – and Itachi was moving, coming closer, unhurried steps, anticipation in hitched breath.

His name snaked across the flat of her tongue, hooked on the tip of it, never spilling forth. Sakura wanted to gasp and scream it through the heat and the haze. He was so close now, insidiously close, that if she licked her lips she could have licked him – the texture of his skin, the flex of his muscles, the juts of his bones. Fingers gripped her jaw, angled it high. She hissed, gazed up at him, bucked against Shisui. The pad of his thumb slipped inside her mouth, dipped and pressed against her teeth, pried her lips wide open – then slid over the softness of her lip, fingers moving back, coiling around her neck, pulling her forward as he filled her mouth with warm flesh. It was too much, too deep, but her lips closed around him, sucked and drew him into her mouth even as he drew back, gliding along her tongue, hard and growing harder, hot and feeling hotter. Shisui chose that moment to ram into her, pushed her forward, made her take more, taste more, drove her to the edge, the brink of satisfaction. One more thrust, one more taste, and she would –

"Stop."

That thrust never came, only flesh straining and throbbing, taste stroking the insides of her cheeks and teeth grazing around it.

"Oh fuck." Groan of a curse, guttural aggression. "Must you really do this?"

"Yes."

There was such ravishment in that one single word, invidious but sinfully right, drunk on hedonism, that she near came undone, hips thrusting back, seeking the last stroke, the last pulse, drenching her thighs, dripping down, low and lower – but Shisui was the one who denied her the revelry of release this time.

"Fine."

He sliced through that high, loosened the grip of muscles and desire as he clasped her thighs, slipped out of her and out of her bed. Shisui came to stand beside Itachi, naked grin, breathing hard, sweat-slicked. Sakura stared up at them, eyes gone dark and seething with intrinsic cravings, nerves tortured raw, tongue wetting and dragging across the cock in her mouth as Itachi, too, pulled back, slipped out of her – but then he leaned forward, fingers twisting in her hair and hauling her up, back and breasts slammed against lithe muscle, the scent of lust and male. It grew and swelled and spilled, slickened her flesh to the point where she was nothing but liquid want, but it ended too soon, smothered under the sound of another need.

"You should take responsibility for me at least."

Shisui's breath scorched sensitized skin, tongue laving up her neck and teeth nipping, but he didn't speak to her. Sakura arched against him, head dropping on the juncture of Shisui's neck and shoulder, nipples scraping against Itachi's torso, moan of a hiss, lash of pleasure. Her lashes fluttered once, damp and heavy, gaze rising, falling into the void, black eyes and glint of things too decadent, too toxic, but Sakura was not the one she saw reflected in the dark. Hot skin, hard pressure against her spine and her stomach, everything she wanted inside her. Insanity seeped into her pores. Her breath fanned across the hollow of Itachi's neck, and she watched as his lips, the tongue and teeth that had touched and teased and bitten into hers, slid against Shisui's. A flash of teeth, sinking into warm flesh, sinuous tongue licking the teeth marks, the heat of reaction lancing through her. Fingers grasped her jaw, angled it high once more, bruising in their demand, cords toiling in her throat. A gasp, suffocation, the pad of his thumb rubbing that spot on her lip, blood welling, zesty and viscous – and then Itachi spoke.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

Sensation seeped away, flowed outwards. Slow hemorrhage of chakra and lust. Itachi cauterized her senses, ripped them from her nerves, gorged on them. One by one, violated, abused – sight first, then touch, sound, taste, scent – only to be iced over, made sharper. When they returned, she felt _too much_. Being forced against the wall, coolness merging with the fever that racked her body, that toxic light in his eyes.

"Taichō…I –"

Sakura was panting and shaking with remnants of half-release, not quite how it should feel, how she knew it could feel. Half the pleasure, half the satiety, but it was better than nothing – that beast prowling inside her body told her so, purred with halved satisfaction.

"It feels real."

Low nuances, full of primal, heavy impulses. His voice melted the ice, smoothed the sharp edges. Sakura stared into his eyes, sipped the hunger disguised as black, so dark it swallowed all shadow and spite. Obsession matured, fermented over the time she had been wanting him and being denied, reaching its apogee to spill even beyond. No air, no breath, nothing but the sliding of fingers, the scraping of nails, low on her abdomen, her hipbone, and lower, slipping between flesh swollen and oversensitive, slinking inside. Languid exploration, deep but not long enough, giving too little, removed too soon. Notes of frustration morphed into sound, half growl, half moan. Itachi chuckled, lazy strokes of his vocal cords, of his fingers, as he withdrew them from the clasp of her body – but he didn't make her taste herself this time.

"It tastes real."

Tongue dragging, slow licks, lavish. He lapped at sultry heat, slab of a reward – or so Sakura wanted to believe. She whimpered, envied those fingers, craved the feel of that tongue, and Itachi must have known because he gave them to her, one leisure dip of slick skin into her mouth, hints of herself but mostly the taste of his tongue, fire in the flesh, then he was moving away.

"It is real."

Sakura could do nothing but nod, having been subjected to how _real_ it was. Heartbeat, blood pressure, respiration – accelerated, pushed to their limits. Itachi studied her for one long moment, still pressed against that wall, still gasping and out of breath and savoring his taste.

"Learn that, and try it on me tomorrow."

He was walking toward the door, had almost exited the room, when Sakura found her voice.

"Where...are you –"

"I have to meet with my informant."

The door clicked shut while he yet spoke, while she was slinking to her knees, gliding down that wall, once cool clay, now burning.


	14. Chapter 14

_Disclaimer: The epigraph is part of the first stanza from a poem by Yeats titled "The Second Coming". I most certainly do not claim ownership._

* * *

><p><em>Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;<br>Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
>The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere<br>The ceremony of innocence is drowned…_

Sakura couldn't tell how long she lay strewn on the floor, body and mind ravished, shivers and cold heat licking at her skin, wanting, needing, craving. Perhaps minutes, even hours, perhaps only seconds. That void, that terrible deepness, his eyes – they burned hotter than starless fire, compressed and expanded to the drum of her heart, the sibilance of her breaths, until she became nothing but an outer shell of _woman_, stretched to encompass sensation, welted and raw and bound. _Madness_. Slowly, carefully, she rose to her knees, moaned as the zesty lap of addiction spilled from that cleft between her thighs, flowed inwards, into the cavity of awareness. She swallowed the wetness, the fire, the cold, the sequela of her wretched lust, until she was no more woman, no more flesh and blood – only void. There was no entrance, no exit, merely disintegration, inks of black fusing with the pastel hues of what she used to be before _him_.

She should howl and bite and claw, deny herself as he denied her, slay the chimera of what must never be – and _rise_. What kind of woman would do this _willingly_, would plunge into the abyss with no regrets? _No regrets_. Denial would never come for such a woman. An attrition of teeth, more wetness, more fire, more cold – and she rose. It was more falling than rising, tasted like medicine, bitter to swallow, but his toxins still corrupted her blood, festered inside every vein and artery; they couldn't be nullified by merely that. Sakura had once thought she had feasted on compulsion, drunk on infatuation, gorged on rejection – yet they had been nothing more than imitations of their true nature, crafted in the mind of a foolish girl who couldn't even understand herself, much less the potency of such concepts. But she wasn't that _girl_ anymore – and Itachi wasn't a _boy_.

The past could never overwrite the present, and a future shaped by the present was full of fire that never died, of ill blood and obsession. To desire the devil meant to burn for as long as he lived, until there was nothing left to burn, and even then still burn to mark the grave of what used to be, ashes of a foolish woman – flesh flayed off bones, skin shed over and over, until she, too, became the devil. Sakura could see it in Itachi's gaze, in the dark and this heat, eyes that were no longer fathomless. Spoken under the leash of impulse, swelling with tacenda, Itachi's words were slinking into her mind, scraping the exposed nerves, and she _knew_. It felt real, it tasted real, and perhaps, it was real. Sakura couldn't be sure if this was fate preordained or merely twisted whim, but there was one truth. Itachi was licked by this fire as she was, maybe a little less, maybe a little more. No. It was neither fate nor whim but a woman's choice – and Sakura had already made that choice.

She couldn't tell when it began, when it would end – she could only _feel_. Perhaps it was the first time she had laid eyes on him, perhaps the second, or even the last. It made no difference – he would always be as he was, he could never change. He was as cold as he was hot – _man_ melted into want, the pure side of things decadent and lethal, the nadir and zenith of heat. There was no middle, no halves, no limits with him. It was all or nothing – but it didn't matter, nothing mattered. The point of no return had been passed long ago – and regrets were for foolish girls. His eyes had slashed though her, seen the naked urge staring at him, a mélange of desperation and lust and obsession, and given her the answer. One word, full of insanity, slathered on her soul, slow-spread and penetrating, not meant to kill but sear and scar and bind. Sakura would never speak that word, would never admit it, not now, if ever. It might become the endmost submission he required from her, not because he desired it – Itachi did _not_ desire it – but because he was not the only one who did not desire it. Above all things neither did she – not to _feel_ it – she wanted to feel it...but to speak and admit it? _Never_. Not to him, for whom it would be the final link in the chain of her leash – the link that lay in his hand. One tug after that, and she would go any direction he willed, Sakura knew, feared, loathed – but couldn't deny.

* * *

><p>Sakura was writhing in his thoughts, her presence a tempo of urgency and intrigue. Fast-beating. Unceasing. She brought fascination to life, throbbing, demanding. Why would she choose to shackle herself in this matrix, fixate on things that were naught but tethers, could never be harnessed, exploited, manipulated to her benefit? Itachi may be the exact opposite of her in this aspect, yet that in itself was a connection, a link. Unwanted. Unbroken. She had spent all of her life abiding by the rules of others, secluded herself in their haven, yet never his rules, his warnings. There was no sanctuary outside his rules, no guidelines, no provident path. It was a black hole, could sweep her up and throw her into chaos, could lead nowhere and everywhere. Of all the rules she <em>should<em> bend and distort and abandon if she wished to move forward, if she wanted to become more than the foolish girl she had been, Sakura had chosen to twist the ones which precipitated agony, lunacy, change undesired, unsought. Her eyes revealed as such, incited what dwelt inside his, drew and pulled it closer, held and gripped it tighter, strove and vied to make it hers.

Her pleasure at seeing, feeling, tasting him was tangible, fires slithering, seething green-dark, tendrils of silvered heat; they crawled over his skin, licked at his lips, bolstered his conviction. If he touched and stroked and indulged her more, her obsession would grow and smolder, buds that blossomed overnight only to wither and die in the morning, ephemeral and self-destructive, a cycle of nirvana and death and rebirth – but Itachi would have to resort to such methods, to repeat that cycle. For Sakura to break her rules, he would have to break his. It rankled but not as much as that gleam in her eyes, malachite deliquesced, tinged with silver and things not meant to be felt for men like him. Unlike the heat slinking, encircling Itachi's calves, trying to devour him, this warmth was lucent, didn't speak of desires or seek to feast on the senses, another kind of fire. If it was a mere capriccio, a passing whim, Itachi could understand it, despite seeing no gratification in it, abhorring the very thought of it, yet this wasn't the case. It was another enigma, another unanswered question – and Itachi refused to cease before he attained the answer.

* * *

><p>Sakura was resting when Itachi returned late at night, but she was awake, Itachi was well aware. Lying on her side, sheets draped and molded over her shape, locks of hair strewn across her pillow and onto the mattress. A mosaic of shoulders and hips and hints of skin. She never turned around, didn't acknowledge his presence, not until he undressed and lay beside her, close but not too close, and even then she merely spoke.<p>

"Taichō." Voice whispery yet unwavering, flowing over the curve of her neck. "Can we try that genjutsu now?"

Itachi should not have been surprised at the streak of rashness, low frequencies, and belligerence that was her request. But he hadn't refrained from another attempt so soon without good reason.

"You have not slept for three nights. Your chakra levels are too low for all three processes. You should know that better than I."

A sigh deluged the space, weary, almost self-mocking.

"I can't rest anyway. I'd have probably taken a soldier pill for tomorrow's lesson."

Another inconvenience Itachi needed to remedy, and there weren't many viable options. Sleeping drugs dulled the senses, slowed reactions, were strictly prohibited during a mission. Genjutsu-induced sleep would have been the favorable solution, yet he didn't want to stress her neural circuits with external chakra when the same results could be produced by simpler means. Draining her chakra to its lowest point might just be enough, and if it wasn't, there was another quick fix.

"Only the first process."

She stirred lightly, as if she hadn't expected his agreement, even with the stipulation he decreed, but still didn't turn to face him, remained on her side, quiet breaths and waiting – juxtaposition of a woman, susurrus of intricacies and snares, demanding, submitting. Neck arching back, cords stretching, his throat vibrated, more action than sound; his arm slipped under the sheets and her waist, circling and cuffing, flipping her over and on top of him. A hiss that turned into a gasp, shock-laden and wanton, nails raking his shoulders, thighs splitting over his hips – but what did she expect?

Itachi watched as she lifted herself up, settling low on his waist and palms flat against his abdomen, peering down at him through a tangle of messy strands. She was hesitancy and flushed skin and hitched breath, chest rising and falling, contraction of muscles and thighs. His gaze trailed over the angles and swells of her body, delineated bones, nipples peaked, stretch of fabric around slim hips. It amused him, that strip of black fibers, that she even wore it. His fingers splayed high on her thigh, thumb sliding under its laced edge, one flick and chuckle, then he sought her eyes, though he knew they were lingering where lace stroked flesh, where lust swelled and spilled. Another flick, another chuckle, and she was raising her eyes, gazing into his, green overshadowed by hunger, colored with repression. Itachi doubted she could initiate the genjutsu given the depletion of her chakra and under such distraction.

"I'll cast it but allow you to take over. It doesn't matter which memory you choose to delve into, but you must access it from beginning to end, down to its last detail."

Sakura pursued the motions of his lips, half-lidded haze. Her lashes fluttered at the sound of his voice; her chin dipped for a quarter of assent. Itachi formed the hand seals, attached the chakra lines – labyrinth of correlation, stream of joint consciousness. Her chakra owned gentler qualities, fine-spun, honed to perfection and accuracy, yet it sundered into a plethora of threads – seeking in erratic patterns, passing memory after memory, and in doing so, aggravating neurons and glial cells. She was in no condition to perform even this single procedure; it was a waste of chakra and time. But Itachi needed to exhaust her reserves either way, push her to the limits, if she were to unwind and sleep – and there was another lesson to be learned via this process, one he should have given her once he was made cognizant of her intrinsic flaw.

_You're shifting through memories too fast and chaotically. It's putting a strain on both of us._

Her chakra would have leached away in her bewilderment, their connection broken, if he hadn't seized control at the last second. Softly, fraught with abashment, her voice filled the hallways of his mind.

_I'm sorry, taichō. I'll try to –_

_No need. I'll choose one for you._

Scent harbingered sight, inundated the atmosphere – blood copper, the tang of viscera, the glut of poisons spilled on the ground. Sakura stood beside him, taking in the grisly scene. The fleshy mass of what used to be humans in her line of vision was too much to be ignored. Despite her inner protests, Sakura couldn't stop her eyes from roving over the human bodies, the fresh-wrought slaughter laid before her. The more she stared at the indistinguishable lumps, the more she could focus on individual features – gender, age, hair color. One amongst them was still alive, gravely injured, vaguely familiar, wrenched a sharp exhalation from her lungs. A whirlwind of emotions wisped into the channel of interwoven chakra, and Itachi contemplated injecting a sliver of his calm into her system, but that would defeat the purpose of this lesson.

A stutter of words was all that came out of her mouth, shock twined with dubiety, eyes narrow, frantic.

"Why are you…this – it's not…_what_ is this?"

Nothing Itachi hadn't anticipated.

"This is a lesson. The least we can do is make the most of it. We'll return to its original purpose tomorrow."

The chill of his voice froze over her, numbed her reactions, though not their origins. One tilt of his neck, tacit command, and she obliged, however reluctantly.

"You see that pathetic man on his knees, crawling and begging for his life?"

It wasn't really a question, redundant to even be poised as one. Still, Sakura nodded, fixed her gaze on his blood-splattered form.

"His name was Kazuya of the Isaraki clan. Have you read the mission report, the autopsy results? Do you know what he did?"

Of course, he knew she didn't recognize the man by name alone, but his deeds _were_ known to her – and the reason he had selected this memory above all others. Itachi observed her closely, intently, as he unveiled them.

"He was obsessed with kekkei genkai – especially…the Byakugan."

She flinched, as if whipped by memory resurfaced, stricken with horror and realization.

"Was he the one who –?" Soft-spoken terror, Sakura couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Acetic acid, styptic. One name chiseled itself from the bark of recollection, forced its way past clenched teeth. "Haruka-san."

It was coated in torture resurrected, eyeless despair and violation, unnecessary to confirm, but Itachi did so – partly for Sakura's sake, partly for that woman's.

"Hyūga Haruka. That was her name, yes. You were the one to treat her, weren't you?"

Sakura turned on him with a thunderous expression, guilt and rage and revulsion sinking into her pores.

"Why are you showing me this?"

_Good_. The corners of his lips curved with the barest hint of ravishment.

"Do you want to kill him now?"

Curious, even challenging, the way Itachi voiced this, the insidious flash in his gaze, made her words astringent.

"You killed him. He's already dead. He's…he _is_ _a_ _dead_ _man_."

His lips curled more, arched higher, at her slow whispers, her convenient excuse; his arm coiled around her waist, hard muscle and restriction. Itachi had her pressed against him in an instant, caging and breath fanning across her neck, her cheekbone.

"But he yet lives – _here_. Did you want to kill the man who did all those things to her? Would you kill him _now_?"

Her spine became ramrod stiff, features pallid, bloodless, chakra pulsing with all the guilt, the rage, the revulsion, merely tamed under his proximity, and Itachi chuckled. It emerged from his throat with something intimate, deliberate, thrummed amidst the carnage, sent shivers crawling across her skin, teeth sinking into the flesh of her lips.

"I – I don't…he's _dead_."

It was no more than a whisper, the vocalization imitating a statement. Itachi kept quiet, allowed time to still, expecting this outcome. Her lids lowered, only the sound of her ragged breathing remained. Inhalation. Exhalation. She was nothing but undulations and spasms, on the selvage of unraveling, admitting things he knew she detested – but they weren't any less true. It made the process so much more diverting – but it was time, enough equivocation.

"So you would." Itachi released her then, caught her as she stumbled. Fingers gripped her jaw, brought her closer, lips gliding, making her swallow his voice, the rasp of satiety in it.

"_Good_."

_Why are you doing _this_? _Sakura didn't spit the words, but she didn't have to. Itachi heard them, saw the urge in the green of her eyes, sinuous fire, absinthian, like spring aflame. As much as he relished this, Itachi didn't want to break her, quite the opposite. The fact that he had to remind himself gave a beguiling hue to his chuckle, a dulcet cadence to his answer.

"_This_ is better than what you've been doing so far."

A sharp intake of breath, eyes piercing, almost pleading with him to cease this nerve-racking game.

"I don't understand. Shinobi aren't supposed to –"

"Show emotion, yes. But _you_ must."

A half-smirk ridged one side of his face, stretched across his left cheek, slowly, but it was humorless, unkind. Itachi didn't conceal emotion, didn't twist his words into something else this time. It was an example, and more than that – the truth she needed to learn.

"You'll never be able to move on from where you are if you don't realize this. What you have been doing, this self-imposed limbo, is making your mind ill. Subliminal stimuli, below the threshold of your conscious perception, pave the road to mental instability. You cannot kill without emotion – not yet."

Sakura merely stared at him, cold fire scorching her nape, slithering across her vertebrae. Her voice was too breathy when she spoke, her pulse thumped out a wild rhythm against her ribcage.

"Are you telling me to murder that…man in blind rage, in vengeance?"

"No." Words wouldn't suffice for this lesson. "I'm telling you to do _this_."

His hand snaked down her arm, fingers encircling her wrist, coils of steel and sovereign. Itachi began walking, forcing her along, until they reached that man, still thrashing on the ground, still begging for mercy. Light pressure now, pushing her forward and leaning into her back, slipping a kunai into her palm and curling her fingers around the metal.

"Control and manipulate your rage, bend it under your heel, your will, morph it into cold intent, killing instinct – and slice his throat."

She was like a doll, malleable and moving on the fluctuation of strings unseen – but that was nothing more than the impression she gave. Beneath her emotionless veneer, that fire grew and blazed, roared for release, vibrations under strung skin. Sakura threaded her fingers into the man's damp curls herself, yanked on his head and exposed his neck, even if Itachi guided her blade, instructed her on how to cut with his own hand.

"Slow and deep and fully conscious." Itachi's voice accompanied their motions, silenced the man's gurgling sounds, turned the spilt blood hotter, like salt poured on wounds, pungent, nocent. "One clean cut."

The man was dead before Sakura even completed her slash, Itachi his sentence. Her grip slackened. His body and her kunai were falling to the ground; blood was dribbling from the tips of her fingers; Itachi was tugging at her wrist, lifting her hand. His teeth clamped around her fingers, grazed and nipped – tainted blood, tainted skin. She heard the devil's chuckle, full of heathen things, slow ignition, fast electricity, but she didn't care, nothing mattered. For that lust in his eyes, those lapping strokes, that pressure curled around her fingers – rough motions, tongue dragging over each of her fingers, sucking, laving that burn. They ravaged the twisting flames, merged with their origins, sizzled and hissed and writhed, half-pain, half-pleasure, vine-like bonds, imbued with things that must never be named.

_Why must you do this? _Sakura glanced at Itachi, asked without vociferation, and he drew back with one last lick, one last bite. His lips twitched with the beginnings of a half-smirk, cogent molestation. Teeth bled the insides of her cheeks, accepted this self-inflicted punishment.

"Our hands are not clean – they never will be."

Itachi licked his lips, the vestiges of guilt and rage and revulsion. His voice caressed the curve of her ears.

"Instead of trying to wrap your mind around realization –" Heavy, spiced with tainted blood, tainted skin – she siphoned its smokiness, the rasp and _man_ in it.

"_Feel_."

It was an allusion, an anathema, what Itachi insinuated. Fire melted, gripping like liquid metal, stretched in obsidian rows. It responded to Itachi's emotions, his revelry, clutched her body – ruthless affection. She should have never received such attentions. Why _her_? Why Sakura? Endless _whys…_ Intentions laid bare, nefarious, inviting – his eyes. The flames changed, reddened, adopted visceral qualities as they inched towards him, gravitated towards reactions unbefitting such scenery – quickened breaths, flesh throbbing, slickened skin. She felt the stirrings of something primal, heat in her bloodstream, electrons in her nerves. _Fire_. Yes – she had a name for it, but nothing else, no beginning, no middle, no end. Itachi's chakra regressed then until it vanished altogether. A drawn-out pause, strained apprehension. Sakura should leave, but her body was rooted, unmoving. She should leave – and yet…

Her thighs clenched around his waist, fingers curling and nails sinking into his skin, as she stared into his eyes. Perhaps it was the soft glow of the moon, filtering through the oval windows, or perhaps hallucinations spawned from the matrix of lust – Sakura didn't know what it was, but his eyes flashed with an unnatural hue, like ichor, ancient blood and raw and rarely sampled by mortals. Respiration failed her, sensations awakened, melted into her veins, sultry blood and _fire_ of things unspeakable, inadmissible. Fingers splayed and coiled around her wrist, grasped firmly, precipitately, sinuous glide of skin on skin, dragging her palm high up on his chest, and higher – he was burning under her touch, pulsing heat between her thighs, made her burn and pulse with him. Inflammation of nerves and warm breath and one stroke of tongue along skin sensitized, tingling. Languorous, rough-licked, drawing her fingers into his mouth, sliding against the flat of his tongue and teeth clamping down on them. Slow withdrawal, biting into each knuckle just a little bit harder, fingers drenched with his taste, the imprint of his tongue.

A moan climbed up her throat, slipped past her lips, prolonged and followed by another, semblance of his name and full of vowels. She ground against him, one gyration of hips and soaked fabric, rubbing the scent of woman, the throb of desire on him – until his scent coalesced with her own, dripping, coating the apex of her thighs, the length of his erection. Sakura attempted to tame the want cresting within her, to tether the intrinsic urges spiraling into her blood vessels – but it was futile, irreversible. Once unleashed, it welled and rippled, devastated all in its path, river of lava burning her from the inside out. She was left with no choice but to resort to physical restraint, to remove herself from the source of those sensations, from _this_ _man_ – but then he moved. It was agonizing, achingly slow, a twist of his pelvis, hard pressure against the seam of flesh seething and inwards. Insidious, calculative motions, as if he knew where she was most sensitive, where to press to feed this insanity that possessed her with each motion he made – and perhaps he did, but she could no longer care. So long as his tongue lapped at her fingers and his hips thrust against her, obsession sinking into layers of skin, fueling that cluster of cravings in her core. Madness saturated her thighs, her fingers, spilled in dips and crevices, suffused all that she was, all that she wanted to become – _his_, only his.

Sakura moaned and writhed above him, gazed into his eyes, into the void that had shackled her, sealed her voice – and for the first time, she spoke his name, tasted the sensuality in it, made it hers – lust-ridden, dipped in instinct, born of that fire. The sound caressed her vocal cords, stretched and twined, stitched into her throat, nested so deep inside her, that it became inseparable. It was molten and smooth on her palate, but the man it belonged to was far from that. There was _something_ in his eyes, in the last brush of his tongue, the last roll of his hips. Sakura wanted to ask him what he saw in her that made his eyes darker, their pull deeper, if it was the same thing she saw in him, but his gaze told of questions unanswered, of a man who was used to doing things in his own time, who satisfied the demands of no one but himself – even though Sakura was on top of him, Itachi held the reins of control, she was well aware, she couldn't not be.

She gasped his name once more, the sole thing _his_ in her possession. Pressure turned into fingers, slender and hot-slicked and hers, being thrust inside her by longer, rougher fingers, delving and snaking, curving and bending, against heat and soft tissue, but the _fire_ turned into nothing – it simply _lived_. A viperous serpent that slithered and curled around her body, writhed and constricted, till its scales lost their rough edge, smooth flesh gliding over peeled skin, fangs gleaming with a sordid sheen. She felt nothing but that fire after the first strike, the pulse of her blood, as it clotted with poison and corruption, flowed from the wounds to form another skin, thin membrane over reason – whatever little of it remained. She fell and ached and waited for the trigger of this paroxysm, for him to come and tear through the membrane, engrave himself so deep inside her that she would have no need for reason – even as she knew he wouldn't. Itachi never did before, so why would he now?

Pleasure surged and thickened and raged, inside every muscle and nerve, every moan and spasm, until she could take no more, until she begged him to release her of everything – the leash of _fire_, the bite of her obsession, the dark of his eyes. It was enough, she had enough – of wanting him, being denied, never reaching that high, moisture and madness and his name on her lips – and then she felt them, _his_ fingers, his touch. Rougher strokes, deeper penetration, more friction, more fullness, the palpitation of skin and tissue, muscles flexing and seething, falling apart and screaming his name.

Sakura was panting and heaving when the yarn of tightness uncoiled, when the tide of ecstasy receded – but those fingers were still inside her, his eyes were still touching her flushed skin, languishing, drinking her in, to the last drop of her spent desire. Itachi was very quiet, pulsation in the juncture of her hips and thighs, edge staring into her eyes, burning, adumbral. Words amassed low in her throat, battled for precedence; Sakura wanted to ask him many things, many questions, but he spoke before she could settle on which it would be first, still quiet but bleeding rawness, satisfaction meshed in restriction.

"You need to sleep."

_Ah_. It was a command even if it didn't sound like one, answered one of the questions roiling inside her mind – why he had given that which he never gave before – but not all of them, not the one she craved to know above all others, sewn on the seam of her thighs, still throbbing, still needing.

"Why did you –"

Itachi chuckled, halted her tongue. That, too, was quiet, carried the strain of endurance, but laved by something else, too deep to be mere amusement, too husky not to be.

"And I was in the mood."

Sakura didn't need to be told that; she had felt it, could still feel it, in the way his fingers lazed inside her, how his eyes lingered on their motions. The dilation of Itachi's pupils, the dark lush of his irises, was answer enough. She could barely breathe, much less speak under those sinful strokes, back and forth, maddening, slow rapture – and more than that, he was so hot and hard beneath those fingers, sliding along slick flesh, being stimulated to near aching sensations. Heavy-lidded and moaning softly, tongue licking across her lip and teeth dragging over it, she was cursed, so irrevocably chained, that she shouldn't rattle the chains, shouldn't provoke their owner's awareness but –

"But –"

It was startling, too sudden. Sakura was lying on her back with no _man_ between her thighs, no _fire_ inside and underneath and against her, only quiet voice, command.

"Sleep."


	15. Chapter 15

Light shifted through the blinds, smeared on every surface and furniture, morning saffron and warmth and the smell of coffee. Itachi turned his face away, a cigarette wisping smoke at the corner of his mouth. Bitter aromas and the zest of aggression suffused the quiet. Cold blood. Hot blood. Calm and wrath melded in swollen veins, smelted iron, refined into raw edge. _I made a mistake. _He held the edge at a distance, examined it...pure thing. Deadly. Easy to slip it into his own flesh, easier maybe to slip it into hers...find out that way if what he'd forged was fire or madness, would remain in this morning or cut out some other time to be tempered in.

She was _obedient_, so full of rage and vengeful and wanton, that he had given her death and blood and release – _his_ _name_. No return. Perhaps it was more than merely that, or perhaps it wasn't a mistake at all. Lines had been crossed, rules had been broken. It was too late – to uncross the lines, unbreak the rules. _Would she even want to? Maybe…yes. But she made the choice._ A smirk slit the seam of his lips, sharp-tilted and slothful and smoke-licked. It could be the heat of pleasure, it could be the chill of wrath, or even a mixture of both – only she could tell him what it was. _Wake up…soon._

Soft padding of feet, close and coming closer. Itachi exhaled slowly as she entered the kitchen, watched her through misty spirals. His eyes traced the contours of her lips, the fullness of their shape – last night they were parted and wet and screaming his name. But not this morning.

"Sit."

Low-spoken. Command. She sat as bidden, yet there was no obedience behind the action.

"Eat."

Neither the quality of his voice changed nor her lack of obedience. She stared at the simple breakfast – steamed rice, miso soup, tamagoyaki – and poured herself a cup of coffee.

"Soldier pills are reserved for intensive training and dire situations. No matter how fucked up you are, you need to eat and sleep sufficiently. As a medic, you should know better."

She raised her gaze to his level, still expressionless, yet there were signs of a tempest brewing beneath tight skin. Her features grew strained – dark luster of eyes, lines of tension in the curve of her mouth. Itachi took a slow sip of his coffee, at his cigarette.

"If I have to take care of you again –"

"You won't."

It wasn't disobedience but something else entirely – conviction slathered on green tenebrific, on ashen lips. She had cut in on his sentence, hadn't even allowed it to come to fruition. One quirk of his mouth, and he was chuckling, raw-throated sound, on the precipice of violence.

"Rage." Itachi saw it swell and erupt even as he spoke the word – in the eclipse of her irises, the distention of her pupils. And he grinned. "Should I take care of that as well?"

It was an ostentation of taunt and teeth. His phrasing might not have been crude this time, yet there was no mistaking the crudeness of his insinuation. Itachi waited for the explosion of rage, and when it came, his grin lessened, mere slant of lips. It was not enough, not nearly enough – how her skin flushed, the way her muscles clenched, until her body was shaking, knuckles white and curling around her cup. Clay shattered and echoed, blood dripped and sullied the rice. But her voice was as soft as it was harsh, the softest and harshest tone he had ever heard from her.

"No."

* * *

><p>His mockery stung and burned, split her skin into thin strips, lacerations and angry blood – or maybe those were the clay shards embedded in the soft parts of her hands. Every vein and artery, every limb and organ in her body frothed with <em>rage<em>, seething, consuming. Sakura eyed its source with a hard stare, channeled all the fury through it, but if she had to be honest, Itachi was merely its reflection. If Sakura wanted to face its origin, all she had to do was look into the mirror – failure of a shinobi, of a woman. That Itachi was _taking_ _care_ of her needs was the peak of humiliation, that he was impelled to give her what she wanted for the wrong reasons the pinnacle of shame. Her lack of self-awareness, effected by congenital limitations, rankled but not as much as the medium for its repossession. Itachi had led her down its thorn-vined path barefooted, skin rupturing along the descent only to lick it healed with his tongue and its toxicant agents – baneful cauterization.

Sakura realized this but cared nothing for the path itself – she would have trodden on that path sooner or later. What she did care for was how many steps she must take if she were to walk beside Itachi, not behind him. It was useless to claim there was no such bond, no such choice made, but giving in discorded willfully with giving up. She had damaged herself – body malnourished, mind vitiated by exigencies, lust satiated for mere necessity. But she wanted none of those things – they were striations, residues of unripe samples. What she did want was an equipoise between shinobi and woman, palatable realization, the right reasons. The blame lay with her more than it lay with Itachi, and despite that she could ameliorate the former herself, only Itachi could grant her the latter. Sakura could not inflict need upon him – she could only wait for necessity to morph into need, for wrong reasons to become right. And so she gave up.

Sakura held nothing – nothing _but his name_. She held it delicately like this cup, cut on all the pieces, saturated in her blood, and stared into his eyes as she spoke it.

"Itachi."

His lips thinned; his eyes flashed. A dare hung between them in the air, seeped through his expression, bled into his sclera. It lasted no more than a mere fragment of a second, yet it was enough. Sakura saw what it was before she felt its savage grip – the quintessence of rage, coils of steel around her neck, strangulation and smoke-scented skin. Her back was slammed against the wall; the rush of the action pulled what little breath was trapped in her lungs out of her lips. Balancing herself on tiptoes and his inhuman grasp, Sakura wrapped her fingers around his wrist on pure reflex, nails biting and sinking into his flesh. If Itachi wanted to kill her, in spite of whether he was allowed to or not, he wouldn't have opted for asphyxiation, she knew at least that much. No – he had lunged for her throat because her vocal cords had been the inception of his brutality, the instrument of her challenge. The muscles in her thighs blazed red, redder than blood flowing inside inflamed veins, burned with the urge to lash out. Sakura couldn't tell that she actually had until the pressure of his grip left her neck, swapped places on her body. In a split moment, and through the flaming haze, air deluged her lungs and fingers dug into her calf before her knee could collide with his ribs sideways.

Chest heaving and out of breath and glutted with rage, she gazed up into his eyes as she was pushed back onto that wall. He twisted her leg to curl it around his hip, ground against her in the heat of the motion, whetted her vocal cords to bear another word.

"No." It slithered along her tongue and crawled out of her throat on mad instinct – even though it should have been anything but _no_.

Itachi kept quiet, even though his fingers uncoiled, slackened, languor in his grasp, in his strokes – but his eyes were sharp, shadow of glaring edge.

"It was never yes or no."

Low rasp of aggression, whispered and rusted, his voice seared her lips. Her knee was being uncurled, lowered, nails grazing high up her thigh but merely that. Nothing less, nothing more.

* * *

><p>It had been but a scant four days since Sakura had departed for Suna, yet to Tsunade it seemed like four weeks with all the work that had accumulated in her disciple's absence. Cluttered pyramids of scrolls and files bedecked her office in a travesty of décor. Naruto and Sasuke were sleepless guards but utterly useless besides that, mere aggravation of stillness on Sasuke's part and restlessness on Naruto's. She'd almost forgotten the sweet burn of sake and gorged on the bland flavor of tea. Frustration was too mild a word for what suffused her core. Tsunade was overstressed, bone-weary, with no means of release…of any kind. She knew it; Shizune knew it; everyone knew it. But the last person she wanted to know it was the shinobi standing in the middle of her office bereft of his ANBU mask and meretricious, lapidating her with suggestion – because it amused him to warp chain of command into taboo, to chisel the boundaries between superior and subordinate for perverse entertainment.<p>

Tsunade fixed him with a glare, fire lapping at fulvous chestnut, wanting precaution as it was splendidly overpassed by Shisui. His eyes never strayed from hers but merely that.

"Hokage-sama."

It rattled her, as it always did for the past five years, the way he enunciated her title, near purring, dipped in undertones he shouldn't, mustn't –

_Oh for fuck's sake_.

"What did you find out?"

She more barked than spoke, nerves frazzled and joints cracking, on the brink of smashing his face to her floor. A slow grin split the curve of his lips. His gaze lowered, stroked the swell of her breasts, languish, thick with invitation.

"A couple of things."

Tsunade's patience was coming undone like silk threads, thin, breakable. It was neither the time nor the place to play this game with him – it never was but now more than ever.

"Shisui."

His name thrummed in the charged atmosphere, coated with a monitory layer. Tsunade made sure that though amused, he was aware of the threat in her voice, the unsaid _I will hurt you if you won't be serious._ His grin hardened, adopted qualities she'd rather it didn't despite provoking them herself.

Uchiha Shisui was dangerous when he was serious, blurred the frontiers separating rationale and instinct. Tsunade had seen too many aspects of the man to fall for his glibness. He never eschewed impulse and decreed self-serving behaviors as permissible when it suited him, appeared to be charming – perhaps genuinely most times – yet he was covertly domineering, seeing people as merely instruments to be used. Ibiki had patterned techniques with Shisui as experimental material for lie detector tests. His lack of remorse, shame, and guilt was exceptional even amongst ANBU shinobi. Tsunade was inclined to believe he didn't see others around him as people, but only as targets and opportunities. With the exception of Itachi, instead of friends, he had victims and accomplices who ended up as victims. The end always justified the means and he let nothing stand in his way. But what disgruntled Tsunade most of all was his need for stimulation, always living on the edge, breathing promiscuity and gambling with other's personal restrictions simply because he possessed none. If Shisui wanted to do something, he would do it, ethics and restraints and rules be damned.

Those characteristics were exactly why Tsunade had assigned him under Danzō, tasked him with the delicate mission of spying on the shrewd elder's movements, and uncovering his agendas whenever she held reason to suspect Danzō was acting independently. And she had been correct this time as in all previous occasions; Shisui's presence in her office was self-explanatory, bombastic presage to the brevity of his report.

"I have reason to believe he will make contact with Suna. One of his Root shinobi was dispatched an hour ago."

Even though Tsunade had pretty much expected something along those lines, her curse escaped the confines of her mind, spilled from her mouth guttural and laden with umbrage.

"Oh fuck me."

"Order?"

It was _too_ much, too husky, full of that purr and overtone. Tsunade was tempted to give him the order he had been trying to extort out of her all these years, but she knew that once she did, she'd become another of his victims – and she was his _superior_. Hence, she acted her damn part.

"Itachi." Authority dripping. "Suna." Glare sizzling. "_Go_."

Shisui cocked his head to the side, grinned a wicked grin, and he was gone. The distinct _crack_ of wood splintering resounded and two ANBU figures materialized seemingly out of thin air. Tsunade smiled at the blond of the duo but it was not really a smile, less dazzle of teeth, more flex of muscles.

"Naruto…come outside."


	16. Chapter 16

Glass was pitiless – coruscating kaleidoscope of affliction. Sakura stared into the mirror, reflection of skin gashed and bruised, blood-ashes of rage. Chakra pulsed, spilled from her fingertips, soft, blue-green glow. She healed the cuts on her palms, the contusions on her neck, one by one, until the blemishes became smooth gloss – but they were still living inside the eyes in that pitiless glass. _Enough – no more… I've lied to myself enough_. Wanting and unwanting. Falling and unfalling. Above and beyond. The woman in the mirror was gazing at her curiously, near mockingly, with eyes caliginous, stripped bare, as if wondering when it would dawn on Sakura that it was she – the woman pierced and gripped by void. Itachi had stirred the inborn traumas, with immaculate patience. He had broken the thin layer of cast she had so carefully applied, shredded the bindings, scraped the tender scabs – till they had bled and festered, the wounds too raw. All of it, her fault. She watched as pale lips curved in mimicry of a smile, a crack of unfelt pain. _I made the choice. That man – I chose him… _It was too late for healing wounds not meant to be healed. Sakura could only cut herself more on Itachi, until he was as cut on her as she was on him.

It was bound to end as such – the deeper she slid and grazed and ripped herself on him, the thinner his flesh, his restraint, his gelidity became. Sakura should have realized this sooner, but perhaps it was best that she hadn't. Making Itachi _hers _was consonant with devouring all he was – and that was discordant with all she had been. Her eyes were too green, too vibrant, filled with things that could never survive in Itachi's. Sakura might have sipped at their darkness, simmered in their heat, known them for what they were, yet she had never accepted, always shunned them. Terror and loathing and condemnation. But it was no longer so. If she wanted him, she could have him – she would have him. _All_ of him – damnation, writhing with sin and sensation, full of _fire_ and _man_. Perhaps not now…but soon. _Yes – soon._

Sakura merely had to say _no_, sink the knife deep inside her and twist it all around, until Itachi gorged himself on blood and obsession, needed no to be _yes_.

She kept staring into the mirror. Naked – skin, woman, want. Her irises had almost fused with her pupils, the green hue flaked, streamed with black, stark contrast to the white of her sclera – and she saw, she knew. If madness had a color it was white; if it had a body it was hers. If she could have said _yes_ then she wouldn't have fire in the blood. Emotions hid in the black, seeped through the white, slithered into the silence, all-consuming – exaggeration and overindulgence. That had always been Sakura's innate flaw. _Too_ _much_. She felt and needed, gave and demanded…too much. Sakura waited and waited and waited. Yet what she wanted never answered her wait. If Itachi wouldn't give her what should be given then she would steal _everything_ for herself. To burn and be burned, she would rise to the crowning point of that fire – because she saw and knew and silence rose to a crescendo within that white when _his_ eyes stared into hers in that pitiless glass.

Sakura made no motion to cover herself, to conceal all that the mirror reflected, merely parted her lips, voiced what they both knew.

"I need to leave for my mission. Today." _I need to practice the genjutsu. Now._

Itachi might not have returned at all if not for that reason. How his eyes glared with keenness, spiked with dim edge, spoke of aggression. The tang of blood was clinging to his scent, saturating the smoky traces, potent and heavy. But it had not been enough, whatever he had done… Sakura could feel dissatisfaction emanating in thick waves, coiling around the arc of her neck, strangling tension. He moved then – clothes being divested, falling to the tiled floor, muscles rippling and the grunt of a sigh.

"I need a shower."

It was the signal for her to follow him into the shower. Itachi couldn't be bothered with wasting time, and Sakura was aware that he could keep neuromascular junction under his control even while in a genjutsu to allow for motor function if he so chose.

The smell of sandalwood oil and steam inundated the limited space. Sakura could have initiated the genjutsu the moment they stepped into the shower, but she was relishing the ambience spreading between them – water gliding and dripping hot, skin sluiced with suds and glistening, muscles made sleek with patches of foam. Sakura gazed at him under her lashes, traced his motions as Itachi lathered his hair. He was all angles, wet skin and sinewy muscle. Calm. Aggression had leeched away, though perhaps that was merely an illusion – she couldn't tell with his eyes closed but she didn't care even if it was. His lids lifted slowly, lazily. Itachi let her glimpse into his eyes, rimmed with glaze and pulling her in deep – but she still couldn't tell, still didn't care. Quiet. _Close_. Need soaked through her, seethed in a tangle of urges low in her abdomen – to touch and stroke, lick and taste. It surged into her chakra system, gathered on the pads of her fingers, and she formed the hand seals before she gave in to its snare.

A flux of memories erupted, near blinded her, convoluted maze of faces and events. Sakura was being stretched and jerked in every direction, scraping against the corners of his mind. It was the same as last time; she couldn't pick a memory because there were too many and she wasn't searching for a particular one. Itachi had left himself wide open on purpose, so she could delve wherever she wished, yet that only made the first process all the harder. Her purpose might have been clear – extract the information needed while drowning the target in lustful fantasy – and though she knew the details she must extricate from Jōseki, that didn't apply in Itachi's case. Sakura didn't want to repeat failure, aggravate their nervous systems with indecision; hence, she plunged into the memory flashing on the complex film of images that raced through recollection once she reached that conclusion.

The room was spacious and eerily barren and she was standing in its centre. Candles flared and flickered, casting shadows on floors and walls made of wood, and farther inside, the Uchiha crest glowed crimson and white. A man was seated on a thin cushion under the painted symbol, arms and legs crossed, wearing a simple kimono. His eyes were black, with sunken creases below them, hooded and grim. Sakura might have never met him, but the resemblance to Itachi and Sasuke was uncanny; she knew who he was before Fugaku spoke.

"So it has come to this. You – Itachi – my own son."

Fugaku's voice rasped low, and though his gaze was weighty and laden with malaise, his tone carried none of those things. Sakura didn't have to turn to register Itachi's presence behind her, but she did so because she wanted to study his expression. Even though it was Itachi's memory, she could detect more emotions in his father's eyes than in Itachi's thoughts, no matter how she refined her chakra and sought them out. Itachi was nothing but a dense string of consciousness and cold assiduity. His eyes were as black as his father's, skin similarly creased beneath them, yet merely that. It was unnatural, his reaction or, more accurately, the lack of one.

"It is a choice I'm willing to make. Can you say the same?"

Apprehension tied her nerves into knots, near disrupted her concentration. Sakura latched onto Itachi's chill to numb her natural response. It wasn't the words themselves or Itachi's dispassion in his utterance but the killing instinct suffusing their chakra channel.

"For the village?"

Bitterness rumbled in Fugaku's tone, the sound distinct and rough on her ears. Although Sakura was still not privy to the subject of this conversation, despite her resonance with Itachi – because his focus wasn't on cause but action – she could infer it affected both village and clan.

"For the clan."

Her gaze grew wide with what followed Itachi's answer. He might not have spoken it, but Sakura was certain Fugaku could hear it as clear as she had.

_If I was acting for the village, it would be the entire clan, not merely you._

Fugaku's gaze turned grimmer, shaded with something akin to regret yet not quite like it. Sakura couldn't recognize what that was exactly, but Fugaku's next words shed light on where it stemmed from.

"I see – but you are not ready."

Clan leadership change – through forced will or death.

"Indeed. But that is a choice you have to make."

Sakura took better notice of Itachi then. The angles of his face weren't as sharp, his shoulders not as broad, his musculature not as developed as she knew them to be; he couldn't be more than eighteen years old.

"My firstborn." There was regret in Fugaku's voice now, so pure that it could be neither mistaken nor masked. "I would have stepped down…when it was your time."

"That time might have never come."

Something pulsated in Itachi's voice, his gaze, quicksilver smothered under layers of detachment. Sakura might have guessed relief, if it was anyone other than Itachi, but she knew better than to assume that.

"The Hokage will attend the meeting tonight."

Itachi's last words imitated his father's first words in that they were devoid of what passed through his eyes for a split moment; they brought the memory to an end, forewarned Sakura to complete the other two processes even while she did as such.

The transition flowed smoothly, chakra ebbing, slipping out of his system and out of his mind. Sensation preceded cognizance – fire igniting nerves burnt out, sizzling down their endings. Sakura more felt than saw him. Slick friction and skin meshing hotly, the low hiss of flesh as Itachi pressed her against the cool tiles, teased and grazed – her nipples, the swells of her breasts, the insides of her thighs, teeth dragging along the line of her collarbone, lapping up her neck. A thrust of lean hips – he moved against her, his cock hard and drawn up against his abdomen, rubbing over the flat of her stomach. The fire grew stronger still. Back and forth. Inch by inch. Sakura needed to speak _now_ – before she lost herself in this labyrinth of stimuli – or she would have let him take her up against this wall.

"You would have killed him…your own father."

Her voice spilled husky and moaning, contradiction of words and actions.

"Do you want me to deny it?"

A chuckle, raw and visceral. He gripped her thighs, hands stroking, welting peels of skin, tongue on delicate bones, smearing wetness on the curve of her cheek, on her lips. She arched against him, drank the decadence of that sound, that tongue. Her arms twisted and curled around him, nails raking the hollows in the small of his back, fingers dipping lower, squeezing his buttocks and sinking into hard flesh.

"No."

Sakura forced that word into his mouth, made him swallow all of its elements – even as she drew him closer, clutched him tighter, bit his lips and sucked him in. Intrinsic, undeniable. _No, I'm not denying you. _The shiver of her moans, the slope of her bones, the feel of her lust, seething and tight and throbbing for him – Sakura would give him many things, and more than that. She would give him _everything._ But only when he wanted _her_, not merely the woman.

Itachi pulled back, still close, maddeningly close – but no more pressing, no more grinding. His eyes bore into hers even as his teeth clamped on the swollen flesh of her bottom lip, languorous and dragging.

"I would have."

Pleasure stretched across the seam of his mouth, dusked his eyes, yet it was another kind, less hunger, more warning – slice of that aggression, never effaced, insidiously extant – then he walked away.

* * *

><p>Her mission had already begun two days ago when she had left Suna without any notable incident, barring the enervation after her last practice session. Sakura had mostly replenished her chakra levels by the time she reached the oasis of Mizubachi, though Itachi's answer yet plagued her. It was a split that never sealed, that she had made unsealed, skin-deep and blood-limned – like the man himself. Itachi had sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of his prey and was guzzling her blood. Sakura could do nothing but lick her aftertaste on his tongue and wonder if his blood ran hot or cold.<p>

The sky was not yet touched by night, scintillas of pyrite and electrum across sweeping blue, when Sakura entered the high class lounge the Suna elder frequented at Mizubachi – but it would soon be. Shakuren was the essence of luxury with its palatial décor and upper class clientele. Arched ceilings and twisting staircases and extravagance, lacquered with onyx and garnet, streaked with gold stardust – the _Red Lotus_ of the desert. The lavish establishment was the place where civilians and shinobi alike favored for their entertainment in the Land of Wind, for absinthian drinks and the touch of lust. Sakura approached the men stationed on either side of its entrance hall, standing tall and dressed in black. _Shinobi_. The way their eyes appraised her, high alert and gleaming reservation, revealed they were aware she hadn't come as a patron.

"I'd like to speak with Kagura-san."

Her smile was polite, her poise empty of threat. They shared a glance, silent communication, then the taller of the two motioned to follow after him.

The owner's office was tasteful but stylistically simple. Kagura was the embellishment, filling the space beyond its capacity with well-aged beauty. Light filtered through the glass pane, washed over her, rich gold, and Sakura felt naked under the woman's gaze. Kagura sat on tan leather, quite natural in this environment, yet all Sakura saw was a predator wearing the guise of seduction. Her eyes narrowed on Sakura, glimmer of sharpness, yet her voice was melodic when she spoke.

"You are not the type to seek employment."

It was a statement and a question. Sakura gave a curt nod, reached into her pouch, and passed Kagura the scroll she was given by the Suna advisor for this case.

"Baki-san has sent me."

Kagura hummed as she read the contents of the scroll. Her lips pursed and reddened; if Sakura had to define her expression, she would call it pouting, but she gathered it was nothing more than an occupational habit.

"If it is Baki-sama, I guess I have no choice. Whatever you need to do, make sure it does not affect my business."

There was fondness in his name and warning in her smirk. Sakura inclined her neck.

"Of course."

A fluid motion of Kagura's wrist, she rang a silver bell. An auburn-haired woman strode inside one minute later.

"Akane will escort you to the boudoir."

* * *

><p>The dressing room was occupied by half a dozen women in various stages of undress. Curiosity, intrigue, and perhaps hostility, hounded Sakura's steps as Akane led her inside and gestured toward the vanity beside hers for Sakura's use.<p>

"So you're a kunoichi."

Akane's tone was friendly, a light observation. Sakura nodded stiffly.

"Relax. You're not here to steal our clients, so we can play nice."

It was more directed at her coworkers than Sakura, dispersed the wary vibes Sakura's presence had elicited. Sakura graced Akane with a smile of gratitude.

"You do know the dress code?"

A pink brow rose drolly.

"I've brought lingerie."

Akane chuckled.

"You'll fit right in then."

Sakura had finished changing and was laughing with Akane at her ribald stories over clients when the door was slid open and someone walked inside. Akane's mouth fell agape in the middle of her laughter – quick intake of breath and a hiss of surprise. Sakura had assumed it was another of her coworkers since two more had made their way in over the past hour, but Akane's reaction made it apparent that wasn't the case. A crick racked her neck, bones snapping with a sharp sound, as Sakura turned –

"You look hot."

His breath fanned over the curve of her ear, cool and warm at the same time, roused the stirrings of shock inside her and tingles on her skin.

"Shisui…" Sakura all but gasped his name.

His voice was the same, his grin as well, yet his looks held a rugged appeal. If she squinted hard enough, Sakura could see the dips in the hollow of his cheeks beneath the hints of scruff spreading on either side of his face. Her brows knit into a frown, but before she could ask what the hell he was doing here, many sounds echoed in the quiet that had spread after his entrance – whispers, snickers, sighs.

His grin burgeoned with amusement and rough-edged mirth colored his voice – a wicked tease.

"Ladies."


End file.
